The worst kind of torture
by Linnzi
Summary: More Sheppard and McKay whumping, I'm afraid. I just can't help myself! Written for the leg wound challenge on the whump thread over at GW. Contains scenes of torture, though nothing too graphic. Final chapter posted.
1. Chapter 1

The worst kind of torture.

_Thanks to my beta, the wonderful Kodiak. All mistakes are my own._

The first blow, Sheppard had expected. When the Torellians had asked him where he was from, Sheppard had honestly replied from a galaxy far, far away. It hadn't amused his hostile interrogators and the blow to his face with the butt of his own P90 wasn't a shock, as painful as it was.

The next hit was just as expected. When the chief grunt had held up Sheppard's GDO and asked what it was for, and Sheppard had replied that he really couldn't remember, but why didn't Goldilocks shove it up his ass to see if it did anything for him, he knew the blow to come was a forgone conclusion. He'd grunted when he'd felt the impact, and inwardly grimaced as he heard the crack of a rib. Sheppard knew Beckett would be delighted that he'd managed to damage his ribs – again.

The third blow had taken Sheppard's breath away. Cyclops, as Sheppard had named the one-eyed beefy goon, had walked behind the colonel and demanded to know 'the 'gate address from where you came'. Sheppard had replied that he unfortunately couldn't remember, owing to the fact that the last blow to his head had destroyed vital brain cells, which had held that information. When Cyclops rammed the butt of the gun into his left kidney, Sheppard had collapsed to the cold, stone floor, desperately trying not to puke.

Sheppard had then been hauled to his feet and held upright by two guards, as he fought the nausea.

Cyclops had circled Sheppard again, and asked how many others had exited the 'gate with him. Sheppard had replied that there were no others, just him. When Cyclops had laughed, explaining that he'd seen at least three others with Sheppard, the colonel had grinned, asking the one-eyed man if perhaps he'd had a blow to the head himself, and was seeing triple. Another blow to Sheppard's left kidney had taken his breath away a second time, and as he had struggled to swallow bile that rose to the back of his throat, he'd collapsed again, his knees suddenly buckling.

Two of Cyclops' men had next unceremoniously hauled the doubled over Sheppard to his feet again, holding him upright more firmly as his knees had continued to give out. Cyclops had then signalled his two henchmen to sit Sheppard down in a chair in the centre of the dark room.

Which brought Sheppard to his current situation.

"What is your name?" Cyclops asked, venom in his voice.

Sheppard smiled sweetly. "Sorry, can't tell you that. Though you're welcome to call me anything you like. Except Kavanagh – that's just wrong on so many levels."

Cyclops signalled to the henchman on the left, who pulled Sheppard's head back by his hair.

"Hey! Watch the hair. You have no idea how long it takes me to get it to look like that!" Sheppard quipped.

Cyclops stood directly in front of Sheppard's upturned face, sneering, the Torellian's stained, chipped teeth showing.

"I want to know the name of the planet you come from," Cyclops hissed in Sheppard's face.

Sheppard smiled brightly at his interrogator. "Endor," he replied seriously.

Cyclops studied Sheppard's face, as if to judge if the answer was finally an honest one. "Never heard of it," he growled, before whacking Sheppard across the mouth, splitting his lip, and yanking Sheppard's head free from the grip of the goon holding him.

Sheppard groaned, cocked his head, and spat a mouthful of blood on to the floor.

"Really? That's a shame. I'm sure you'd love the Ewok's. Nice furry little things, great to have on your side in a battle against evil. But then again, they obviously wouldn't be on your side, so perhaps not," Sheppard mused. That earned him another blow, this time to his left temple. Sheppard winced as he heard the skin split and felt the warm trickle of blood running down the side of his face.

"You really think you're clever, don't you?" Cyclops hissed. "You won't feel so smug when you're screaming in agony begging me to ask you another question," he warned.

Sheppard grinned. "Not going to happen. Seriously, you need to work on your torture techniques. This is all a bit of a cliché. If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd been watching too many gangster movies," he laughed.

Cyclops gestured to henchman number one. "Break the fingers on his left hand."

"Oh yeah, too many gangster movies," Sheppard muttered to himself.

Sheppard gulped, and gritted his teeth, trying to resist as the goon grabbed hold of his left hand, and forced his clenched fist open, before taking hold of the index finger of the hand and yanking it upwards forcefully. Sheppard grunted as he heard an audible snap, the joint of the finger obviously dislocating from the violent movement forced upon it. Sheppard swallowed as he saw the finger sticking up at a right angle to his hand. The other three fingers snapping earned Cyclops small cries from the colonel. Still Sheppard sat defiantly, panting as he tried to recover from the agony he felt from his abused digits.

Cyclops' anger and frustration from getting little reaction from his prisoner was evident now. "Do the same to the fingers on his right hand," he shouted.

The pain was excruciating, and one by one, Sheppard's fingers snapped as they were yanked upwards. He cried out again, struggling against the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him, yet determined not to give Cyclops the satisfaction of seeing him vomit.

Dizzy and exhausted, Sheppard closed his eyes, opening them quickly when he heard the clunk of the latch to the door as it moved open. Another Torellian entered the room, and whispered something in Cyclops' ear.

Cyclops grunted, and turned to Sheppard. "I have things to do. Don't get too comfortable. I haven't finished with you yet," he warned.

"Can't wait for more. Though I hope you'll be a little more inventive next time," Sheppard quipped in between pants from the burning agony. Cliché it might be, but effective, though Sheppard would be damned if he'd let it show.

Cyclops turned to his two henchmen. "Return him to his cell," he ordered, annoyance evident in his gruff voice.

Sheppard groaned as he was thrust into the dark, damp cell he had been imprisoned in earlier. Managing to stay on his feet, and smile at the guards, as soon as the door was bolted shut, he sank to his knees, pulling his mangled hands in close to his chest, finally giving in to the agonising pain he'd been forced to endure.

After he'd recovered enough to move, Sheppard slowly climbed to his feet, shuffling till he could lean his back against the cool wall of the cell, his bruised flank eased by the cold penetrating his flimsy sweaty black t-shirt. Lowering himself carefully to sit down, Sheppard looked at his hands, wincing as he saw the dislocated fingers, swollen and purple, throbbing mercilessly in time with his pulse.

"Okay," he said to himself, "I know this is going to hurt like hell."

He lifted his right hand, and carefully turned his hand over, so the palm was facing up, and without hesitating, rammed the fingers, which were still at right angles to his hand, down into the hard ground. Sheppard cried out in agony as the fingers snapped back to their correct positions, and instinctively thrust his hand under his left armpit, rocking back and forward, panting as he tried to quell the pain.

Taking his hand out a few minutes later, he studied the swollen fingers, now grotesque in appearance, and groaned.

"Okay, four down, four to go," he muttered, summoning every ounce of courage he had left.

Sheppard repeated the process, this time only succeeding in correcting three of his fingers from their awkward angles.

"Shit, shit, shit," he chanted, as he, again rocked back and forwards.

"All right. I can do this," he assured himself, as he rammed the disobedient digit into the ground a second time. This time it snapped back into place, though Sheppard couldn't help but cry out.

Sheppard sat rocking, his hands protectively tucked under his arms, for a few minutes, as the pain in his hands died down to a fierce throb. He took stock of his other injuries, groaning at the pounding present in his head, and the dull ache of the deep bruising to his left side. Although in pain, Sheppard knew his injuries weren't life threatening, but he also knew there would be more to come. The longer the torture went on, the weaker he'd become, and the more likely he'd be to blab. Sheppard knew it was impossible not to break in the end, and just hoped he'd either die quickly, or be rescued. He preferred the latter to the former.

Suddenly feeling nauseous, blood rushing in his ears, Sheppard rolled onto his side, moaning, and as darkness approached him, he prayed his team had made it to the 'gate, and weren't suffering the same fate he was.

Tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

_A huge thanks to my beta, Kodiak for getting this chapter back to me so quickly! All mistakes are my own…_

Sheppard was awoken some time later by a distant voice calling his name. Refusing to be roused, he continued to drift in the hazy fog his brain was revelling in. He groaned as someone gently shook his shoulder, calling his name a second time. He managed to prise open heavy eyelids, and struggled to bring the person who had interrupted him from his painless twilight world into focus.

"Colonel? Can you hear me? For God's sake wake up, or I'm going to assume your last brain cell has finally met its maker," the familiar voice complained.

Awareness kicked in instantly.

"McKay?" Sheppard whispered, not quite believing, yet fervently hoping, that his friend's presence in the dingy cell was a hallucination.

"Well done. Obviously the brain cell is still present and correct. Though perhaps correct is an exaggeration, as you're not right that often, are you?"

Not a hallucination then.

Sheppard's brain started to put everything together.

"You didn't escape. You were captured too?" he asked unhappily.

McKay snorted.

"Well, obviously I was captured. I'd hardly be here otherwise, would I?" he stated, irritation present in his voice.

"Thought I was hallucinating," Sheppard answered honestly. "Are you okay?"

McKay gulped. "I'm fine. You're – obviously not. What did they do to you?"

Sheppard chuckled weakly, hissing in pain as his body protested at the movement that action caused.

"Beat me up a little, then decided to re-arrange the position of my fingers," he answered, knowing McKay would freak out when he saw the livid purple bruises and disfigured joints on his hands.

"What? Let me see!" McKay demanded indignantly, and without invitation gently lifted Sheppard's nearest hand. "Shit! The bastards. What else did they do?" he asked, and Sheppard heard the anger and revulsion in the scientist's voice.

Sheppard thought how best to prepare McKay for inevitable nightmare ahead.

Playing down his injuries and trying to calm the nervous scientist, he explained, "Look, it was standard stuff. So don't worry about it," he started. McKay started to complain, but Sheppard continued talking, realising he had a limited amount of time to explain the situation to the anxious man. "They roughed me up some…did a great job on my fingers, so playing my guitar isn't going to be an option for a while, but I'm okay other than that. Really." Sheppard paused, thinking how to best phrase what he had to tell McKay.

"Listen, I don't know how much time I've got to explain this, so pay attention. Whatever they do to me, don't tell them anything. Even if I beg you. Believe me, if they ask me to give them information or they'll hurt you, I won't tell them anything." Sheppard was careful to avoid using the word torture. "These goons are called the Torellians. I think they're nomadic, and that this isn't their home planet – if they even have one. I don't know anything else. They're rough, callous, dangerous, and pretty good at what they do. We can't afford to let them know about Atlantis." Sheppard exhaled, before continuing. "I haven't told them my name, but don't worry if you end up telling them yours, just hold out as best you can. Hopefully it won't come to that."

McKay stood and started pacing.

"You're talking about torture, aren't you? They tortured you for information, and you think they're going to torture me too," McKay stated, the pitch of his voice raising in panic.

"It might not come to that. I just want you to be prepared. Just…do your best. You're not in the military, tell them what you have to. No one will judge you…Look, if they try to hurt me to make you tell them stuff – don't, okay? They'll know you're not trained to withstand that kind of interrogation and they'll try and mess with your head," Sheppard warned.

"Right. I'll just stand there and watch them hurt you, and say nothing, because that's so like me, isn't it?" McKay was really starting to freak out.

Sheppard knew he had to calm his friend down.

"Rodney, listen to me. These guys could be a danger to Atlantis. They could be in league with the Genii, Wraith or God knows who else. We have to keep Atlantis' survival a secret and protect the expedition." Sheppard sighed. "They've got my GDO, and we can't afford to let them know the 'gate address or IDC. I know this isn't nice, and believe me I don't enjoy pain, but Atlantis' survival is paramount."

McKay paled. "I know. I'm just not good at being tortured. After Kolya…"

Sheppard interrupted. "Forget about that. That wasn't your fault. Just do your best. Did Ronon and Teyla make it to the 'gate?"

McKay nodded. "Yes, I think so. I couldn't run as fast as those two, and I got cut off from the 'gate. I hid for as long as I could, hoping the - Torellians?" Sheppard nodded. "Would give up. In the end they found me, and I was hit by some sort of stunner."

"Okay. If Ronon or Teyla made it back, then they'll be coming back with a rescue party soon enough. We just need to hold out." Sheppard thought out loud.

The sound of the cell door opening caught both men out.

The same two henchmen who'd hefted Sheppard around earlier were back again.

"Back so soon? What a pleasant surprise," Sheppard remarked in a voice dripping with sarcasm. That earned him a kick to his ribs. As his vision blurred, he wondered why he didn't just keep his mouth shut.

McKay sighed and looked at the colonel curled up on the floor, panting in pain.

"You just can't stay quiet sometimes, can you?" McKay muttered in an exasperated tone.

Sheppard managed a weak chuckle. "That's good coming from you."

"Good point," McKay answered honestly.

The two henchmen moved closer to where Sheppard lay curled in a protective ball, and hauled him to his feet, the colonel wavering as his head swam.

Managing to find his equilibrium, Sheppard shrugged the goons away, and looked back at McKay.

"Guess I'll be seeing you later, then," he smirked at the scientist.

McKay headed towards the door. "Wait. Where are you taking him?" he demanded in an irate voice.

Henchman number one smiled menacingly, before answering, "You'll find out soon enough."

McKay swallowed. "Wonderful," he said to himself, as he started pacing the width of the small cell, waiting anxiously for the return of the colonel.

-oOo-

The interrogation this time was turning out to be a little different, Sheppard thought to himself. How ironic that he'd encouraged Cyclops to show a little ingenuity and that he was now paying the price for his earlier words.

Cyclops had obviously realised beating the crap out of his prisoner wasn't going to get him anywhere, so Sheppard figured he had decided on another plan of attack.

This one involved extremely hot pointy objects being pressed into Sheppard's skin.

The first burn had caused Sheppard to cry out immediately, as the back of his right shoulder was prodded with what Sheppard could only describe as a branding iron mixed with a red-hot poker. As he felt his flesh sear, he prayed Cyclops' poke and tell game wouldn't hit him below the belt – literally.

"What's the point of suffering, my friend?" Cyclops sneered at Sheppard. "You're going to tell me what I want to know in the end, so why not make it easier on both of us. What is your name?" he demanded.

"Okay. Han Solo…that's my name," Sheppard ground out, in between the shallow breaths he was taking, as he tried to quell the fiery pain of the burning agony, as it spread its tendrils across his back and shoulder.

Cyclops smiled, satisfied with his apparent success. "See? That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

Sheppard grinned. "Nope. Pretty easy really. So what's your name? Seems only fair you tell me yours as I told you mine," he asked pleasantly, between shallow breaths.

Cyclops took the hot iron and thrust it into the back of Sheppard's left shoulder. As Sheppard smelled his own flesh burn, he wondered for the second time that day why he didn't simply keep his big mouth firmly closed.

Cyclops grinned maniacally. "You'd do well to remember that it's me who's asking the questions. And we were getting along so well…" he sighed in mock regret. "Where are you from?" he continued.

"I told you. The name of my planet is Endor," Sheppard groaned.

"And I told you I'd never heard of it," the goon hissed back.

Sheppard grimaced, as his body desperately tried to cope with the agonising pain it was experiencing. "That's not my problem. It's the truth," he lied, inwardly praying Cyclops would believe him this time.

The beeping of a device around Cyclops' wrist distracted the goon, and he grunted, signalling to the two guards. "Take him back to his cell. I have matters to attend to," he growled. "Perhaps you need a little time to reconsider your answers?" he added, before leaving the room.

McKay quickly got to his feet as he heard his cell door opening. He let out a yelp as Sheppard was thrown into the darkness, landing in a heap at his feet.

"Oh, that was just totally unnecessary," he complained, as he knelt at his friend's side and studied the man lying in a tangled mess in front of him.

Sheppard moaned quietly, and opened his eyes to slits in order to study the scientist's face.

"Are you all right?" McKay asked worriedly. On seeing the burnt fabric of Sheppard T-shirt, and the livid whelts, oozing plasma under the holes where the material had melted, he exhaled. "Okay, so that was a stupid question. Jesus, what the hell did they do to you this time?" he asked, fear and concern tingeing the tone of his voice.

"Think they thought I was an unbranded prize bull," Sheppard joked. "I'll be fine in a few minutes," he added, knowing that his burns, although agonising, weren't too serious – just hurt like hell.

"I told them my name was Han Solo and that I'm from the planet Endor, so remember that," he whispered to McKay, as the pain he'd suffered finally began to take toll on his abused body. "Hey. You can be Luke Skywalker," he slurred as his eyes closed and he slipped into unconsciousness again.

As he busied himself trying to make Sheppard reasonably comfortable on the dirty, hard floor of the cell, McKay looked at Sheppard's injured fingers, and tentatively examining them, winced. Realising it would be sensible to bind the fingers together, he took off his jacket, and tore the material as best as he was able to, into thin strips, and carefully bound the fingers. "Crude, but efficient," he smugly said to himself. Looking at the battered man in front of him McKay sighed wearily, and all he could manage to utter was a resigned, "We're dead men."

Tbc.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3.

_Thank you so much for the reviews! Thanks, yet again, to the wonderful Kodiak for her support and beta skills_.

Sheppard's return to consciousness was slow and painful, and he let out a quiet groan as his body complained from its assorted injuries. Remembering what had happened, he gingerly opened his eyes and looked for McKay.

"Rodney?" he called weakly, straining to move his stiffened shoulders, the healing burns pulling on the fabric of his T-shirt. Lifting up on his uninjured elbows, he managed to look around the cell – no McKay. Great. Suddenly Sheppard felt immense anger. Rodney wasn't a soldier, he wasn't trained for this crap, and he shouldn't be in the position he was now in.

Slowly, Sheppard clambered to his feet, immediately slumping onto his knees as his body let him know it wasn't going to co-operate.

The cell door swung open, and McKay was sent hurtling through the open door. Remarkably, the physicist looked pretty intact. A dark bruise was forming on his right cheek, and Sheppard could see McKay's lip was cut and swollen. Eyeing the scientist's hands suspiciously, Sheppard was relieved to see his fingers were all present and correct, and appeared to be untouched.

"Rodney? You okay?" Sheppard asked in concern.

McKay laughed a little too much. "Oh, I'm terrific! They hit me, broke at least four ribs, probably chipped a tooth – and fractured my cheekbone. Do you know the complications you can suffer from a cracked cheekbone?"

Sheppard smiled, realising that if McKay was complaining as loudly as he was, that he couldn't be that badly injured.

"No, I've no idea. Come over here and let me take a look at you," Sheppard ordered.

McKay obediently walked over to the colonel, and sat down carefully next to his friend.

"I want Carson," McKay moaned pitifully.

Sheppard snorted in agreement, "Yeah, me too. Nice, warm infirmary bed sounds like heaven right about now, doesn't it?"

McKay hummed wistfully. "God, yes! You think Elizabeth will have sent a rescue team by now?" he asked, and Sheppard winced at the desperate plea in the physicist's voice.

"If Ronon or Teyla made it back – yeah. Don't forget, they've got to find us first. I've got no idea how far from the 'gate we are, and that's presuming we're still on the same planet," he responded logically.

McKay's face dropped. "That hadn't even occurred to me. What if they 'gated us to somewhere else? They'll never find us. We're going to die, aren't we?" he quietly asked, and Sheppard knew from experience that when McKay went quiet, he was in trouble.

"We're not going to die. They'll find us – trust me." Sheppard locked eyes with McKay, and held the scientist's gaze until he nodded in agreement. "What did you tell the goons?" Sheppard asked, trying to change the subject, and break McKay's depressed mood.

McKay exhaled. "They hit me, and I said I was Luke Skywalker from Endor, and strangely enough, I think they believed me. They didn't ask about the GDO or for the 'gate address," he replied, smiling as he considered his words. "Luke Skywalker and Han Solo? Have you any idea how hard it was to keep a straight face?" McKay chuckled, wincing as the broken skin on his bruised cheek stretched painfully.

Sheppard grinned. "Actually, yes. Want me to look at your ribs?"

McKay lifted his shirt, wincing as the movement caused the pain in his ribs to flare.

Sheppard looked carefully at the scattered bruising and reached out to palpate the bruised flesh. Suddenly remembering his injured fingers, Sheppard looked down at his hands, and instantly noticed that they had been bandaged with – McKay's prized jacket? Wow, what an honour, he thought to himself. Smiling at the thoughtful gesture, Sheppard returned his gaze to the physicists bruised ribs.

"Doesn't look too bad. Can't tell if they're broken without feeling them, and that's not really an option right now. The bruising doesn't appear too heavy. You sure they're broken?" he asked, guessing McKay had exaggerated a little.

McKay huffed in annoyance. "Well, maybe they're not broken," he conceded. "Feel broken though," he added, and Sheppard couldn't help but grin at the sulky tone evident in the physicist's voice.

"Yeah, hurts all the same, right?" he asked, knowing full well broken ribs didn't feel one bit like bruised ones. Still Rodney wasn't good with pain, and he had been subjected to violence he wasn't trained to handle. "Why don't you lie down and try and get some rest? It's the best way for your injuries to heal," Sheppard suggested, trying to soothe the physicist and keep his mind off the inevitable rough time ahead.

McKay grimaced and nodded. "Good idea. You should sleep too."

"I'm good," Sheppard replied, not being completely honest. His back burned, his side ached, and his fingers throbbed, mix those in with his headache, and he really craved Beckett's magic painkiller injection, which really did kill the pain. It made you loopy as hell at the same time, but loopy sounded good to Sheppard right now.

As McKay settled on his good side, head resting in the crook of his arm, Sheppard slowly climbed to his feet, and shuffled over to a small pail with water in it. Taking a crude metal cup by the side, he dipped it in the bucket, and tentatively sipped the water – not the best, but sufficient.

Sheppard looked across at McKay, who appeared to be dozing, and settled himself on the floor opposite his friend, lying on his relatively good side, wincing as the burn pulled against his T-shirt again. He closed his eyes and wondered where the hell Ronon and Teyla were. Had they made it back to Atlantis? He thought they must have, or they would have heard by now. The Torellians would have put them in the same cell, wouldn't they? Sheppard hoped so. As he started to doze himself, Sheppard wondered what the Torellians would try next, and hoped whatever it was, that it wouldn't involve McKay.

The cell door opening caught Sheppard by surprise for the second time that day, when the henchmen returned yet again. The colonel had fallen into a restless slumber, and had been caught off guard.

"Right, you two. Get up! Time to answer some more questions and for us to have a little fun," Goon number two sneered.

Sheppard and McKay gingerly got to their feet, reluctantly following the guards out of the cell. In his present condition, and with the two burly guards with them, Sheppard knew any escape attempt would be futile, and could result in McKay getting hurt. He walked along the corridor, resigned to what was ahead.

This time they were led to another room. Sheppard saw McKay's face pale as he entered. Two heavy chains were slung over a beam in the ceiling, with manacles on the end of each. Opposite was a chair facing the chains.

Goon One gestured for McKay to sit down, Goon two led Sheppard to the chains and proceeded to chain his wrists to the two manacles, then pulled the other ends of the chains tight, securing them to a bolt in the floor. Sheppard's hands had been pulled above his head, his arms tensely stretched up, pulling at his shoulders. His feet barely touched the ground.

Sheppard's hands screamed in protest as the manacles pressed into swollen flesh, and his burns smarted as they stretched.

Looking at McKay's pallid complexion, Sheppard sighed. At least this was going to play out the way he'd figured. Sure, McKay would be forced to witness something horrific, but at least it wasn't the physicist who'd be screaming in pain, and Sheppard was thankful for that.

Cyclops entering the dingy room interrupted Sheppard's thoughts.

"Han and Luke." Sheppard saw McKay's mouth twitch, and bit his own lip to stop himself from smiling. "Nice of you to join us," the one-eyed man greeted his two prisoners, smiling smugly. Sheppard noticed the long, thin knife in Cyclops' hand as the blade gleamed in the overhead sparse light.

Sheppard smiled warmly back. "Wouldn't miss the party for anything, nice of you to invite us." He noticed McKay shooting him a warning look, and nodded at McKay to reassure the nervous scientist.

Cyclops walked up to Sheppard and sneered. "You haven't learned anything have you?" and drew his hand back before slashing at Sheppard's left arm. He immediately wiped the blood from his knife on the sleeve of his jacket.

Sheppard had known what was coming as soon as Cyclops had started to walk towards him, and had gritted his teeth and held his breath in anticipation of the pain he knew he was about to suffer. He had failed abysmally to smother the cry that left his lips.

McKay instantly started to stand, and was pushed roughly back down by the guard nearest to him, who viciously smacked the physicist around the face, splitting his lip again. McKay put his hand to his lips, and wiped the warm blood away.

"What the hell did you do that for?" he shouted at Cyclops, his body shaking in outrage at what Sheppard had been subjected to. "Leave him alone!" he added angrily.

Cyclops strode over to McKay, and bent down, his foul smelling breath making the physicist turn his head away in disgust.

"He should have learned by now only to answer my questions. He's not too bright is he?" Cyclops sneered, before walking back towards Sheppard.

Blood ran down the colonel's arm and dripped steadily on to the floor.

"Talk only to answer my questions, or my next cut will be lower," Cyclops warned. "What is the 'gate address to your world?" he turned and asked McKay.

"I really don't know," McKay lied.

Cyclops took the knife, and pressed the blade into Sheppards right forearm, piercing the skin, but not pushing into his flesh.

Sheppard bit his lip, and tried to slow his breathing as he recovered from the pain of the wound to his left arm, and tried to shut out the pain now present in his right.

"I have all day, Luke," Cyclops informed McKay, and Sheppard couldn't help but smile at hearing his friend's new name.

Cyclops scowled at Sheppard, pressing the knife further into Sheppard's arm.

"Something amusing you?" he demanded angrily.

Sheppard's breath hitched as the nerves in his arm protested at the blade pressing into them. "No…no. Nothing," Sheppard panted.

"Good. Let's try again, shall we, Luke. I want the address of your world. The longer you don't tell me, the more Han here gets hurt."

McKay swallowed. "Look, I really don't know. I'll tell you anything, just don't hurt him, okay?" McKay begged.

Sheppard looked at McKay and shook his head slowly.

Cyclops grinned, and withdrew the knife from Sheppard's arm. "I knew you'd come round! You're not a soldier like Han. What's your purpose here?"

McKay held Sheppard's gaze. "I'm a scientist. It's my job to study the planets we visit."

Cyclops laughed. "A scientist? Really? A scientist who doesn't know the 'gate address of his own world?"

"Well, we ah, move around a lot. Our planet was culled by the Wraith, we escaped and er, move from planet to planet, and I can't remember which one we're on now," McKay lied unconvincingly.

Cyclops turned away from McKay, and walked behind Sheppard, so the scientist couldn't see what the goon was doing.

Sheppard's scream told him enough.

"Liar!" Cyclops screamed at McKay.

"I'm not lying, it's true, I swear!" McKay shouted back.

Sheppard groaned, and quietly whimpered as Cyclops moved away from him. McKay saw the blood on the blade of the knife and wondered where Cyclops had cut Sheppard this time.

"I can kill Han anytime I choose, remember that," Cyclops warned.

McKay gulped. "I know. I've told you the truth. Don't hurt him, please," he begged.

Sheppard's head had flopped forward, and his whole body hung loosely from his manacled wrists. McKay guessed the colonel was unconscious, and hoped it was from the pain, and not blood loss.

"That's enough for now. Return them to their cell. Give them the medical pack from their supplies, but remove any sharp objects," he ordered his goons. "Wouldn't want Han to die from blood loss or infection, would we?" he grinned before leaving.

McKay watched as Sheppard dropped in a boneless heap on the floor of the cell when the manacles were removed. The two guards dragged their unconscious prisoner roughly by the arms, as McKay led the way to their cell.

After they were both thrust inside, the scientist ran to Sheppard's side, and started to assess his injuries. A deep cut was oozing blood on Sheppard's left bicep, another small but deeper wound had blood welling in it on his right forearm. McKay carefully turned the colonel over and gasped as he saw the source of Sheppard's last anguished cry; Cyclops had stuck the blade into the burn in Sheppard's left shoulder, and it was bleeding sluggishly.

The cell door opening caught McKay's attention, and once the medical supplies were thrown in the dark cell, he scrambled to retrieve them, frantically scanning the bag to see what supplies had been left. Realising his first priority was to clean Sheppard's wounds and stop the bleeding, he set about his tasks efficiently.

When he was finished and had securely fastened field dressings to the bleeding wounds, he checked Sheppard's pulse, and tutted when he found it to be strong but too fast. He sat down wearily next to his friend, scrutinising the bleeding and battered body.

"I don't think I'll be able to hold out if they do this again, Colonel. I'm not like you. I can't sit and watch this, I'm sorry," he quietly lamented.

McKay raised his head upwards, as if talking to the air around him. "Where the hell are you Ronon and Teyla? I really don't know how much longer we can hold out," he moaned in frustration.

McKay settled down to watch over Sheppard, and knew it was going to take a miracle for them to survive the position they were now in. A quiet moan from Sheppard brought McKay back to the present, and he quietly soothed his friend. "Shhh. Get some rest. Teyla and Ronon will be here soon. Just hang on."

As McKay said the words, he let his head fall into his hands. "Hurry – please," he begged, hoping his absent teammates would somehow hear and respond to his desperate plea before it was too late.

Tbc.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4.

_Thank you for the reviews! A special thanks, again, to the wonderful Kodiak for her prompt and scrupulous beta skills._

Sheppard woke from his deep sleep to find a worried McKay peering anxiously at him from overhead. Blinking furiously to get his vision into focus, Sheppard groaned as he returned to lucidity, and the pain from his wounds flooded his senses, throbbing relentlessly.

"Colonel? Thank God. You've been unconscious for hours, and I was really worried that…"

Sheppard interrupted McKay. "I'm fine," he whispered, knowing that his body wouldn't be able to take much more of the sort of abuse it had already suffered.

McKay snorted and Sheppard saw the anger and concern in the physicist's face.

"You are not fine! Stop being so – macho, all the time. You've lost more blood than I want to think about, though my medical prowess has fortunately stopped the bleeding for the moment," he babbled, and Sheppard knew the psychological stress of witnessing the torture was taking its toll on his friend.

Sheppard grimaced as he tried to sit up, flopping back down onto his sore back as he spectacularly failed.

"Thanks for looking after me," he said simply.

McKay stood, and started to pace. Sheppard saw that the deep bruise on his friend's cheek was more pronounced, and that the scientist had gained a second deep split in his lip, which was swollen and bruised.

McKay was anxiously wringing his hands together, and his words came out in a furious bluster.

"I can't do this anymore, Colonel. I never thought I'd say this – but I'd rather they were hurting me than you. I know what you're going to say. Surely not? Since when did Melodramatic McKay, Recreant Rodney become stoic and brave?" he paused, shaking his head in exasperation. "I'll tell you when. When I got to the point that I couldn't bear to watch sadistic bastards hurt a friend to get information from me."

McKay slumped to the ground, grunting as the pain from his bruised ribs flared.

"Seriously, Sheppard, I can't do this anymore. This is hurting more than anything they could do to me, but I know that won't make any difference to them, will it? They want to hurt you, and there's nothing I can do stop them, is there?" McKay halted his outburst, and looked into Sheppard's pale features. "You said they'd mess with my head, and they have, haven't they? I'm the weakest link and I've broken. They've already won." The physicist lowered his head into his hands, his body language screaming that he'd finally given up. Sheppard noticed McKay's heavy breathing, and shaking body, and understood that the scientist was struggling to control his emotions.

"Rodney?" Sheppard called quietly to his friend. "Listen to me. This is what they want – to break you. Sure, they're enjoying making me yell, but you've got to be strong. We just need to hang in there for a little longer, and the cavalry will be here. You have to believe that," he half-begged.

McKay lifted his head and snorted. "Can't you ever stop being the eternal optimist? They're not coming! Don't you get it? They'd have been here by now if they were."

He stood again, and turned to look down at the prone man on the floor of the cell.

"I'm stopping this right now." He walked over to the cell door. "Guard!" he shouted at the top of his voice.

Sheppard attempted to move again, this time succeeding in manoeuvring himself to his good side and pushing himself up awkwardly to his knees.

"What the hell are you doing, McKay?" he demanded, knowing full well what was happening.

"I'm going to try and bargain with them. Tell them who I am, and get them to negotiate for our release with Elizabeth. We're bound to have something they want," McKay answered.

"Rodney – don't. It won't work. Listen to me. I understand how you feel, but you could put Atlantis at risk, and I'm simply not worth it. Sit back down and wait for the guys to break us out of here. I know this is hard for you to accept, but neither of our lives is as important as the safety of those back on Atlantis. Just think about it, okay?" he pressed, trying to persuade McKay to see reason.

McKay turned back to look at Sheppard, and seeing the colonel's pleading face, sank to his knees.

"Oh my God! What was I thinking? I was going to tell them everything. I'm really screwed up…shit. I'm sorry, really, really sorry," he muttered in a broken and weak voice.

Sheppard shuffled over to McKay.

"Hey, don't worry about it. What they're doing to you is the worst kind of torture, don't you see?" he asked. "Yes, they're hurting me physically, but they're mentally torturing you, and that's far worse, believe me," Sheppard comforted his friend. "What you need to do, is believe help is on its way, and even if things don't work out, well – shit happens."

"Shit happens? Is that all you can say?" McKay asked in astonishment.

Sheppard smiled. "What else is there to say? Life isn't fair sometimes. You just have to accept that and move on."

"I hate you sometimes, really – I do. How can you be so – laid back, and brave about everything?" McKay asked in a voice thick with both emotion and annoyance.

Sheppard snorted. "You think I'm not scared? Well I am, believe me. The difference is I've been trained not to let it show. I don't want to die, and I sure as hell don't want you to either, but sometimes events are out of our control." Sheppard locked on to McKay's eyes with his own. "They'll be here. I know they will. We just need to hang on a little longer," he assured the physicist.

The cell door creaking open startled both men, and the entrance of Cyclops to their cell was just as surprising.

"Gentlemen? Glad to see you're both awake. I want you to understand something. I don't like being lied to, or toyed with." Cyclops took his hand from where it had previously been hidden behind his back, and fingered the weapon Sheppard could now clearly see. His own 9 mil.

"This weapon is yours, isn't it, Colonel Sheppard?" Cyclops grinned in triumph.

Sheppard's face betrayed his shock that Cyclops knew who he really was.

"Hah! Surprised I'm not as stupid as I look?" he sneered.

Sheppard stifled a laugh. "Well not really. That'd be pretty difficult, wouldn't it?"

Cylops studied the colonel, who was still kneeling, and making a decision, walked over to him and put the gun to Sheppard's head.

"It would be so easy to kill you, Sheppard, and such a pleasure," he sighed. "But, I can't do that. What would Dr. Weir say if I killed my prime hostage?" he asked, as he lowered the gun.

McKay interrupted Cyclops. "Weir knows we're here?"

"Yes, Dr. McKay. We are currently, how did she put it, ah, in negotiations for your safe return to her. She contacted us several hours ago, and was keen to offer generous supplies in return for you and Sheppard." Cyclops paused, frowning at McKay. "Though she was very surprised to learn we had captured Han Solo and Luke Skywalker, she actually laughed for some reason. Of course, she wants you both back unharmed. I had to inform her that Colonel Sheppard had already been – regrettably injured, so that means I can still inflict some more pain, doesn't it?" Cyclops grinned evilly at Sheppard, and taking the safety off the gun, aimed it at Sheppard again.

"What the hell are you doing? You just said you were in negotiations for our safe return. He can't take much more of your abuse, and if you kill him, Dr. Weir won't negotiate for my return. She doesn't even like me," McKay lied, hoping to stop the brutal man from injuring Sheppard further.

Cyclops laughed loudly, a deep laugh that echoed around the cell. "You not pretty enough for her, McKay?" he mocked. "Don't worry, I don't intend to kill him, I'm…"

Cyclops was interrupted by a large blast rocking the cell. Recovering himself quickly, he snorted, and aimed the gun at Sheppard's chest, cocking his finger, ready to fire.

"Looks like Dr. Weir didn't want to negotiate after all. Pity, I was looking forward to having some more fun. Goodbye, Sheppard," Cyclops laughed.

McKay made his move immediately, and tackled theCyclops to the floor, the 9 mil in the goon's hand firing, as they both fell backwards to the floor.

McKay struggled with every ounce of courage and strength he had, his fists pummelling Cyclops' face relentlessly.

The next thing McKay was aware of, Ronon was hauling him to his feet, flinging him aside and over to relative safety, as the tall man aimed his weapon at the bloody-faced Cyclops on the floor.

Looking around the cell, McKay saw two unconscious, possibly dead guards in the doorway, and Lorne and Teyla kneeling down by Sheppard, who was now lying on the floor of the cell.

"You came. I didn't think you would. Sheppard never gave up. He knew you wouldn't leave us here. Thank God!" McKay babbled in relief. "Sheppard? They're here. You were right. So, that makes one time you got it right. Still, who's counting?" he joked, his body suddenly shaking as the implications of his act of bravery hit him.

On hearing no reply, he edged towards the colonel, and immediately stopped dead in his tracks. Teyla was pressing a field dressing saturated in blood into Sheppard's left thigh, and talking urgently to Lorne.

"Sheppard?" McKay asked, suddenly feeling faint as he realised the bullet from the 9 mil must have hit the colonel.

Lorne approached McKay, reaching out to touch his arm. "Listen, Doc. We need to get the colonel back to the 'jumper now. Can you walk?" he asked calmly.

"Yes, yes. Oh God, I helped shoot him, didn't I? I didn't mean to. He was aiming for his chest. He would've killed him…I didn't know what else to do. Is he going to die? Oh no, I killed Sheppard…" McKay ranted, as shock set in.

"It wasn't your fault. He's not dead, but he will be soon if we don't get him back. Dr. Beckett is waiting in the 'jumper. We really need to go." Lorne turned to Ronon. "Ronon, carry the colonel. He's not going to make it on his own two feet," he informed the Satedan.

Ronon sneered, and without thinking, turned the control switch on his gun, and fired point blank at the one-eyed man on the floor beneath him. "Guess you won't be injuring anyone else," he muttered, before striding over to the colonel and lifting him up and over his left shoulder. "Let's go," he grunted at Lorne.

"Teyla? Can you help Dr.McKay?" She nodded in affirmation, before taking McKay's arm and leading him out of the cell. Lorne watched as Ronon effortlessly carried his team leader, and then took their six.

They ran slowly along the corridor, any Torellian they met on the way being quickly and efficiently dispatched, and were soon in daylight.

McKay shielded his eyes from the bright sunlight, and stumbling, was helped by Teyla to remain on his feet.

Lorne clicked his radio twice. "'Jumper One, uncloak. We're here," he called into his headset. The cloak immediately was shut down and the 'jumper appeared.

The team ran into the back, to an anxiously waiting Beckett and nurse.

Once everyone was safely on board, Lorne ran to the front and sat in the pilot's seat, immediately starting the pre-flight procedure.

"Hang on everyone, I'm getting us out of here as fast as I can," he warned those inside the ship. "Stackhouse? Dial the 'gate," he ordered. "Doc, how's the colonel?"

Beckett tutted. "A bloody mess, Major," he said before continuing to tend to his patient.

McKay sat on one of the seats in the rear of the 'jumper and stared at the scene being played out in front of him.

Sheppard was lying on the floor, a large pool of blood puddling around his left leg. Beckett had already inserted an IV and placed an oxygen mask over Sheppard's pale, sweaty face. The nurse was applying pressure to the bleeding wound, but not succeeding in quelling the flow of blood.

As McKay watched the pool of blood spread out under Sheppard, he bit his bottom lip, and almost inaudibly muttered, "God, don't die Sheppard, not after everything we've been through. I'll never forgive myself if you do."

Tbc.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5.

_Thanks to Kodiak for keeping me on the straight and narrow here – boy, did I need her wisdom! All mistakes are still my own…_

"Right Melissa, let's take a look at that leg wound," Beckett ordered, and proceeded to cut away the leg of Sheppard's pants, from the top to bottom, with a pair of scissors. As he cut through the sodden fabric, he grimaced at the sight that met his eyes. Blood seeped too fast from a large wound on the outside of Sheppard's left leg, half way between his hip and knee. A smaller wound was bleeding sluggishly from the other side of the thigh. Beckett cut away the entire left side of the pants, exposing his patient's bloody leg, and Sheppard's blood-soaked blue striped boxers. He discarded the saturated fabric and exhaled.

"Okay, we've got a couple of bleeders here. Damn! I'm going to have to tie these off now, or he might bleed out before we get him back to Atlantis," He complained. The nurse passed Beckett various medical instruments, and he quickly located the damaged blood vessels, succeeding in suturing them, and stemming the flow of blood.

"Right, that'll do for now," he sighed in relief. "Bloody good thing we bought some O neg with us. Melissa, let's start a second line, he needs more fluids," he calmly ordered his nurse, before taking the colonel's blood pressure.

"Damn, he's shocky, let's squeeze that blood in quickly, please." His request was polite but urgent. Beckett then scooted down to the colonel's left foot, removing his boot before feeling for a pulse there. Not liking what he discovered, he turned towards the front of the 'jumper, and called to Lorne.

"Major? How long are we going to be?" he asked urgently.

Lorne checked his instruments. "About ten more minutes until we get to the 'gate, Doc. You want me to patch you through to Atlantis, so you can speak to your team?" he offered.

Beckett nodded. "That's a good idea. I don't suppose you can go any faster?" he asked, suspecting that they were already flying flat out.

"I'll give it a try, Doc," Lorne answered, before contacting Atlantis, and handing the com over to Beckett, who proceeded to give his team various instructions, including for them to ready the surgical suite for their return shortly.

"Let's see what else you've done to yourself, Colonel," Beckett muttered under his breath. As he began to examine the colonel for other injuries, he started when the abuse Sheppard had suffered became apparent to him.

Shock and anger were vivid on Beckett's face as he looked over at McKay. The physician then simply shook his head in disbelief.

"Christ! Rodney, what the hell happened in there?" Beckett asked, the pitch of his voice raising in alarm, as his experience as a doctor already answered that question for him.

McKay stared straight ahead, not returning Beckett's gaze.

"They tortured him for information. Then, when he wouldn't break, they tortured him in front of me to try and get me to talk," he answered in a monotone voice.

"What?" Beckett asked in outrage. Turning to his nurse, he said, "Melissa, go and check on Dr.McKay, please?" His face gentled as he looked again at McKay. "Rodney, did they torture you as well?" he asked softly.

"No. Roughed me up…but no, the bad stuff was reserved for the colonel," he answered automatically.

Not completely convinced, Beckett let it go for the time being, trusting in his nurse to examine McKay. Returning to his prone patient on the floor, Beckett tutted and set his jaw firmly. He carefully lifted Sheppard's shirt to examine his torso. Seeing livid purple bruising to Sheppard's ribs, he carefully palpated the area, before looking at Sheppard's left side and noticing more severe bruising snaking under the unconscious colonel.

Beckett looked under the field dressings on Sheppard's arms and huffed, before examining the colonel's head wound, and shining his penlight in the colonel's eyes.

McKay watched numbly as Beckett tutted again and shook his head.

"He's got two burns on his back as well, and a knife wound," McKay whispered. "Oh, and you might want to look as his hands," he added.

"I can't roll him at the moment, as that could tear the sutures in his leg," Beckett commented, before lifting Sheppard's nearest hand, and carefully removing the makeshift bandages. He cursed. "Bloody hell! What sort of person would inflict this sort of damage on another living being?" he asked in revulsion.

Examining Sheppard fingers, he groaned. "These look as though they've been dislocated." Beckett massaged the back of his neck with his hand. "What a mess," he lamented.

McKay looked at Beckett. "Is he going to be all right?" he asked sadly, shrugging away the nurse's attempt to clean his bloody lip. "I'm fine," he muttered dejectedly.

Beckett considered McKay's question before answering. "It's far too early to tell," he replied honestly. "His pressure's coming up a little, which is good, but he's not going to simply walk away from this one, Rodney."

"He's not going to be the only one, Carson," McKay replied dejectedly.

Carson eyed McKay with compassion. "Aye, that he's not."

A low moaning on the floor interrupted the two men's conversation.

"Colonel?" Beckett softly called. "No, don't move, lad," he warned, as he gently held Sheppard's leg still.

Sheppard turned his head to face Beckett. Sweat beaded on the colonel's brow, his breath coming in shallow pants, steaming up the oxygen mask. He groaned again, and attempted to lift his right hand to his face.

Beckett carefully pushed back Sheppard's arm to the floor, being careful not to further injure his damaged fingers and knife wound.

"It's all right, son. You're safe. We're on our way back to Atlantis. You've had another wee spot of trouble off world. Don't worry, you're going to be fine," he soothed.

A muffled sound came from under the mask, and Beckett leaned over to try and hear what Sheppard was saying.

"I'm sorry, Colonel. I didn't hear that," he informed his patient, as he gently lifted the mask.

"M'Kay?" Sheppard slurred, his weak voice barely audible.

Beckett replaced the mask. "He's fine, lad. Sitting over there quietly. Don't you concern yourself, we'll take care of him too," he told Sheppard kindly.

Sheppard nodded feebly, and another muffled moan escaped his lips.

Seeing that Sheppard was in distress, McKay angrily looked at Carson. "Hasn't he suffered enough? Just give him something for the pain, for God's sake!" he exclaimed. "I really don't think I can stand to hear him in pain anymore…" he added, his voice sounding even more dejected and broken.

Beckett studied McKay's face carefully, recognising the shock the scientist was obviously suffering from. "Do you think I enjoy listening to my patient suffering? I can't give him anything else at the moment – not until I've got more fluids into him and can get his pressure up some more," Carson explained in an exasperated yet guilty tone. "As soon as we're in the infirmary I'll make sure he's pain free. Are you all right, Rodney?" the physician gently questioned, probing again because he already knew the answer.

"No – I'm not," he replied flatly.

Lorne's voice interrupted the men's words. "Doc? We're coming up on the 'gate," he informed Beckett.

"Thank you, Major," the doctor gratefully replied, knowing he had his work cut out for him when he finally got the colonel back to his infirmary.

As the 'jumper docked in the bay, and the rear hatch opened, the waiting medical team rushed in.

Beckett immediately started to bark orders in his usual professional manner. "Dr. Lambert, you get Dr. McKay onto a gurney," he ordered brusquely, before turning to three more of his staff and motioning them to approach. "Let's sort the colonel out. Move him carefully. I had to place some temporary stitches to stop the bleeding," he warned.

Beckett positioned himself over Sheppard's face, so the colonel could clearly see his him.

"Colonel? We're going to move you now. I want you to keep as still as you can. I know it's going to hurt, but I want you to bear with me for a few more minutes, all right?" he calmly asked the prone man.

Sheppard weakly nodded his head.

Beckett signalled to the nurses to wheel the gurney forward, and it was positioned next to Sheppard's right side. Beckett and the nurses situated themselves around Sheppard and the gurney, and gently lifted him across and onto the litter. Sheppard cried out as he was moved, making a choking gasp as he was firmly deposited down.

"Sorry about that, lad," Beckett apologised. "Right, let's get moving," he ordered.

-oOo-

Once Sheppard's gurney had arrived in the infirmary, Beckett and his team swarmed on to the colonel, deftly removing the remainder of his clothes, attaching an abundance of machinery and tubes, and then covering the colonel with a crisp, white sheet.

As Beckett checked the readings on the various monitors, he rapidly noted them down, before turning to his trusted nurse.

"Melissa? Check the colonel's tibial pulse," he ordered the nurse abruptly.

"It's barely palpable, Doctor Beckett," Melissa answered, a slight edge in her voice betraying her usual composure.

"Okay, everything else will have to wait. Let's get him prepped for surgery. I don't want to take any risks," Beckett sighed. "Shelly, pull two units of type specific, and get some more gelofusine started," he asked calmly. The nurse nodded in affirmation.

Beckett left Sheppard's bed and approached the waiting group of anxious people huddled in one of the corners of the infirmary. Ronon was covered in blood, Teyla smudged with dirt, and Weir stood arms folded, tension obvious in her body language.

Weir stepped forward, anxiety etched in her features. "Carson? How are they?" she asked in an even-toned, professional voice.

"Rodney's taken a bit of a beating, though I've not had time to look him over myself. I'm concerned about his mental state, he's suffered quite a bit, I'm afraid," he answered wearily.

"And John?" Weir tentatively asked, her professional exterior faltering, as she bit her bottom lip and her gaze moved to the bed bustling with activity across the other side of the room.

Carson exhaled, wondering where to begin, and knowing he didn't have the time to explain everything fully. He opted for a quick and brief synopsis.

"Not good. He has multiple injuries and he'll be going into surgery shortly," Beckett gently told Weir. "He has a serious leg wound and I'm worried about the compromised blood supply. I need to get that sorted out, the sooner the better, as I don't want to risk him losing his leg. I'll let you know as soon as I know anything." He turned to Ronon and Teyla. "You two need to be checked. See Dr. Lambert when he's finished with Rodney," he ordered, before smiling grimly in the way of reassurance that he'd do the best he could, and walked away to scrub for surgery.

Weir watched as Beckett strode out of the infirmary, and turned, as her attention was drawn back towards Sheppard. She grimaced when she heard the creak of wheels across the infirmary floor, as the colonel's bed was wheeled quickly away towards the surgical suite. Flopping herself down wearily in the nearest chair, Weir exhaled and braced herself for the long wait she knew was ahead.

-oOo-

Sheppard's foggy world was full of pain. His leg burned, a deep fire radiating from one end to the other. His ribs smarted with every shallow breath he took, his head pounded, his shoulders throbbed. He found it hard to find a place that didn't hurt. He just wanted the pain to end. As another fiery tendril of pain surged upward from his thigh, he moaned, and distantly wondered where Beckett's happy injection had disappeared to.

Opening his eyes, Sheppard made out the blurry figure of Beckett in surgical scrubs hovering over him.

"Colonel? I'm going to give you something now that'll make you sleepy, and when you wake up you'll feel much better," he soothed.

Sheppard started to say something, but his words were lost as another moan escaped his lips. Lifting up the mask, Beckett leaned in to listen to Sheppard's words.

"Tell M'Kay…wasn't…his fault," Sheppard slurred, before groaning in pain again.

Beckett replaced the mask, and grimaced, soon recovering himself and smiling again.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure he knows. Just close your eyes and rest," he soothed, as he injected the contents of a syringe into one of Sheppard's IV's.

He then watched as his anaesthetist removed the oxygen mask and deftly intubated Sheppard, before he was wheeled into the operating theatre.

Tbc.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

_Thanks to Kodiak for her beta skills and support. Thanks, also, to Hobous for spotting my goof, and being so nice about it. All I can say is – oops! All mistakes are my own – unfortunately!_

Sheppard's world was full of pain, relentlessly pounding through his exhausted body. Distantly he could make out someone calling his name. What had happened? Where was he? Why did everything hurt so much? Trying to move, he found he wasn't able to, as his muscles refused to co-operate with his demands. They were torturing him again, weren't they? Whimpering quietly, he just hoped death would come quickly, but whatever fate had in store for him, he wouldn't tell them anything. They wouldn't break him; he wouldn't give them that satisfaction.

"Colonel? Come on now, lad, I just need you to wake up for a minute," the voice asserted.

Sheppard groaned as the pain hit him in breathtaking waves, one after another, brutally assaulting him.

"No…not…going to…tell you…just…kill me," he ground out, in a broken slurred voice.

"Bloody hell, Colonel. Nobody's going to kill you. You're safe on Atlantis, lad," the shocked voice replied.

As the pain intensified, Sheppard feebly cried out.

"No more…please," he begged desperately.

"Colonel Sheppard? It's over. You're safe. I need you to open your eyes for me, then you can go back to sleep again," the persistent voice demanded.

Sheppard vaguely recognised the lilting tone. Through his pain he tried to remember who the voice belonged to. Instinctively he felt the person meant him no harm. Recognition suddenly kicked in – Beckett, it was Doctor Beckett.

"Doc?" Sheppard weakly asked, as he turned his head to the side, feeling the pull of tubing across his face as he slowly moved. Sheppard struggled to open his heavy eyelids, managing to prise them open to slits. He vaguely saw Beckett's outline, hovering over him.

"That's better," Beckett sighed in relief. "You're in Post Op in the infirmary on Atlantis, Colonel. How are you feeling?" the doctor questioned, as Sheppard heard the rustle of cloth and felt a pull on his arm.

"Hurts," he breathlessly whispered.

Sheppard heard a soft huff of breath leave Beckett's mouth. "Aye, I know, lad. I've just given you something for that. I had to let you wake up first. You should feel better in a few seconds," Beckett said in a compassionate voice, tinged in regret, Sheppard noted.

"Happy injection?" Sheppard guessed, relief flooding his abused body instantly.

Sheppard heard a soft chuckle. "Aye, son. Happy injection."

Sheppard closed his eyes in delight as the pain ebbed away, fading to a soft throb.

"Thanks. Wanted one…all day," he slurred, his voice trailing off as he headed towards blissful, drug-induced sleep.

This time Sheppard heard a soft grunt. Annoyed? Beckett was annoyed. As warm darkness started to envelop him, Sheppard wondered what he'd done to irritate the good doctor this time.

"I'm sure you have, lad. That's it, get some sleep. I'll come and check on you later," was the last thing Sheppard heard as Beckett reassured his patient in a soothing voice.

Carson signalled his nurse to sit with the now happily drugged and unconscious colonel, before leaving his patient to speak to Dr. Lambert about Rodney. Having found the doctor and caught up with Rodney's situation, Carson was now on his way to inform the worried small group of people awaiting news in the infirmary of the colonel's condition.

-oOo-

Three over anxious, frustrated people sat wearily waiting in their designated corner of the infirmary. Weir had come and gone as her duties had allowed. Ronon and Teyla had been checked over and had then cleaned up. All three were sitting sprawled on various chairs awaiting news of Sheppard. They'd already been informed of Rodney's situation by Dr. Lambert, and knew Rodney was sleeping after being sedated. They had also learned that McKay had suffered two fractured ribs, some severe bruising to his chest, and various injuries to his face. Dr. Lambert had also explained that Rodney was suffering from shock, and had become distressed about the events he'd witnessed – hence the need for sedation.

"How long's it been now?" Ronon's gruff voice broke the silence in the room.

Teyla sighed. "Ten minutes later than when you last asked, Ronon," she gently admonished the impatient Satedan.

Weir smiled grimly at the pair. "It's been over seven hours. What can be taking Carson that long?" she asked in frustration.

"The colonel has suffered many injuries, Dr. Weir," Teyla gently reminded Atlantis' leader.

As Weir was about to answer, Carson walked in to the infirmary and tiredly made his way over to the anxiously awaiting people. He pulled up a chair, and sat down in front of them, balancing a medical file on his lap.

"Carson, how is he?" Weir asked in an anxious and concerned voice, her former relaxed position now replaced by an upright, alert one.

"He's nicely drugged up at the moment and sleeping," he answered. "The surgery on his leg went well, and I believe the reduced blood supply he suffered won't be an issue," Beckett answered wearily. "However, the colonel has suffered several severe injuries, and though he's doing incredibly well considering what's happened to him, he's still in a serious condition. He's in Post Op at the moment, and we'll soon be moving him to the intensive care area," he warned.

"Okay," Weir answered. "What exactly has happened to him, Carson?"

Beckett looked down at the file on his lap that he'd brought with him. Opening it, he looked at Weir. "Do you want to know the specifics of his injuries?" he asked flatly, not sure that Weir would want to learn about what had been inflicted on his patient.

Weir tentatively nodded her affirmation, anxiety and fear apparent in the pinched expression on her face.

"I hope you have a strong stomach," Carson warned. "Colonel Sheppard suffered a serious gunshot wound to his left thigh. The bullet clipped his femoral artery on its journey through, but fortunately for him the damage to it was minimal, otherwise he'd be in the morgue now." Weir blanched at Carson's words. Looking up from his folder, Carson smiled grimly. "Don't worry, I had it under control pretty quickly. Though my temporary suturing did stop the massive blood loss, it also restricted the subsequent flow of blood. However, as I've already said, I'm confident that's not caused any problems for the rest of his leg…"

Weir zoned out as she listened to the list of Sheppard's injuries. Two broken ribs, a severely bruised left kidney, and associated sluggish internal bleeding that Carson hoped would resolve itself. A knife wound to Sheppard's upper left arm, another to his lower right. Two burns on his back, as well as another knife wound to the shoulder – all would leave scarring. Ligament damage to John's fingers where they'd been dislocated, as well as two broken bones. A nasty gash to his head, and finally, multiple bruising. Weir had known from Teyla and Ronon that Sheppard had been tortured, and that Rodney had been forced to witness some of it, but she hadn't been prepared for Carson's litany of John's injuries.

Weir suddenly realised that Carson had finished talking, and was looking at her with a concerned expression on his face.

"Elizabeth, are you all right?" he gently asked.

"My God, Carson. How could they do this to him? Is he going to make a full recovery?" Weir asked, not sure she was going to like the answer, but needing to ask anyway.

Carson exhaled and grimaced. "Right now I need to make sure he pulls through this, Elizabeth," Beckett explained gently. "He's lost a lot of blood, and still has some internal bleeding from the damage to his left side. I may need to surgically intervene, though I'm crossing my fingers it won't be necessary." Beckett paused, and collecting his thoughts, continued. "His leg injury is extremely serious. As well as the arterial, and some nasty vascular damage, there was muscle involvement too. I've repaired it, but it's going to take a lot of work to get it back to full use again. I think it's fair to say he's got a long recovery in front of him, but all things being equal, I hope he'll return to his former good health," Beckett finally concluded.

"I see," Weir muttered numbly.

"When can we see him?" Ronon's gruff voice asked what the others wanted to know.

"Tomorrow morning, if he's stable," Beckett replied, knowing that would be an unpopular answer. "It'll take a while to get him settled in intensive care, and he'll be unconscious overnight anyway," he added firmly, leaving no room for argument.

"Carson?" Teyla's soft voice filtered through the air. "You will let us know if anything changes?" the Athosian asked.

Beckett nodded, and smiled warmly at Teyla. "Of course I will, love."

"What about McKay?" Ronon grunted.

"I've spoken to Dr. Lambert briefly, and I'll be taking a look at him myself shortly. As you know, Rodney is out for the count, and won't be conscious until tomorrow morning. You're welcome to make a brief visit though," he offered.

Weir nodded her head by way of reply.

"Thank you, Carson," Teyla answered gratefully, as she followed Beckett, Weir and Ronon across to the curtained area where McKay was sleeping.

Weir stepped forward and took in the sight before her. The physicist's face was pale, save for deep bruising to his cheek, which had spread to encompass his eye. His bottom lip looked swollen and deformed owing to severe swelling from the abuse it had obviously suffered. Two cuts had been sutured on either side of McKay's lips, and Weir noticed an IV line attached to Rodney's left hand.

Sighing, she gently touched the scientist's nearest arm. "I'm sorry, Rodney," she whispered. "We should have found you sooner."

Carson cleared his throat. "Okay, I think that's enough. I suggest you all go and get some sleep. Come back tomorrow morning and you can see the colonel as well," he said encouragingly to those present.

"You look exhausted, Carson," Weir commented. "You should get some rest too."

Beckett snorted. "I'm afraid I daren't leave the colonel at the moment, Elizabeth. It's early days, and there's still a lot that could go wrong. I'll check Rodney, see the colonel settled, then I'll try and catch a quick nap later," he assured her.

"Make sure you do," Weir warned the doctor. "Keep me informed of their conditions - and Carson? Thank you," she added.

"Goodnight, Elizabeth," Carson said warmly, before repeating the farewell to Ronon and Teyla.

"Right Rodney, let's be taking a look at you," he muttered, as he busied himself checking McKay's vitals.

-oOo-

After examining McKay, Beckett helped settle Sheppard in the area of the infirmary designated for intensive care, and after scrupulously checking his patient, and noting the readings on the various monitors, he sat in a chair, and quietly dozed, knowing Dr. Lambert was on duty.

Beckett was awoken a few hours later by one of his staff.

"Doctor Beckett? I'm sorry to wake you, but we're concerned about the colonel."

Beckett blearily rubbed at his eyes, and looked up to see Melissa gazing at him, a worried expression on her pretty face.

"What's wrong?" he asked in concern.

Melissa grimaced. "The colonel's pressure has been steadily dropping. I informed Dr. Lambert an hour ago, and we ran through some more gelofusine, but it's not improving, and Dr Lambert thought you'd want to know," she explained.

Carson groaned. "Obviously crossing my fingers didn't help any," he muttered to himself. "Let's take a look at him, Melissa."

After examining his patient thoroughly, Beckett exhaled and looked at his nurse.

"Damn. You'd better contact the on-call surgical team, it looks like we're going to have to go in and sort that bleeding out," Carson informed Melissa.

The nurse bit her lip, and nodded, understanding the seriousness of the situation.

"I've already contacted them, and they're on their way here. Do you want me to round up some more type specific?" she asked, predicting Beckett's next order.

Beckett let out a huff of air. "Aye. Better make it three units this time. Do we have enough stored?" he asked.

The nurse nodded. "I checked before I woke you. We have five units left."

"Thanks, love. You're a damn good nurse, you know," he praised Melissa warmly.

The nurse blushed. "Thank you, Doctor. I'm just sorry I'm having to use my skills on the colonel again," she replied sadly.

Beckett shook his head in frustration, and exhaled. "I know, lass. Luck's not been on his side much lately, has it?" he lamented. "I'd better start scrubbing in. Get him prepped again," he ordered brusquely, as he left for the surgical suite.

Carson swore quietly under his breath as he walked urgently away. "I swear you're trying to send me grey, colonel," he muttered as he prepared for yet another long night ahead of him.

Tbc.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7.

_Thanks for the reviews! Thanks, as usual,to my wonderful beta, Kodiak. I should explain that D.I.C. is a serious disorder associated with several conditions. In this case, it's due to Sheppard having lost so much blood and needing so many tranfusions. Simply, the body develops multiple small clots in the bloodstream, which in themsleves can cause problems, but in Sheppard's case, cause the clotting factors in his blood to be all used up, resulting in haemorrhaging at the site of his wounds. The disorder is often fatal, as a sufferer literally bleeds to death. _

McKay woke suddenly, panic overwhelming him as he remembered what had happened. Attempting to sit, he groaned as his fractured ribs pulled and smarted at the movement. Grimacing, he slumped back into his pillows, and tried to slow his rapid breathing, lying still to try and control the pain. Succeeding in diminishing the incessant throbbing, he gingerly opened his eyes.

"Morning, Rodney." Beckett's voice filtered into McKay's foggy brain. "How are you feeling?"

McKay considered the question before answering. "Like I've had the crap beaten out of me?" he questioned the doctor.

"That would be an accurate assessment of the situation, I think," Beckett chuckled. "Do you need something for the pain?" he asked seriously.

"Why are you asking? Just give me Sheppard's magic happy injection," McKay pleaded.

Remembering how seriously injured the colonel was, McKay paled.

"Oh my God! How could I not remember? Sheppard. How's Sheppard? I shot him, didn't I? Oh no! How could I not remember? What's wrong with me? He's dead, isn't he?" McKay babbled as the trauma he'd endured overwhelmed him.

Beckett acted quickly and efficiently, injecting the special painkiller mix he'd brought with him into McKay's IV port.

"It's all right, Rodney. You didn't kill the colonel. He recovered well from the wound to his leg," Carson soothed. "That wasn't your fault anyway. He told me to tell you that."

Rodney exhaled in relief. "He did?" he asked. "Thank God. He's going to be okay? I didn't kill him?"

Beckett grimaced. "The wound is serious, Rodney, but I sorted it out, so don't worry," he assured the physicist.

McKay grinned happily at Carson, but seeing the doctor's serious face, quickly surmised that Beckett wasn't giving him the full story.

"What's going on? He's not all right, is he?" Rodney asked. Despite the slightly doped-up feeling he was experiencing, he could still sense something was very wrong.

Beckett smiled hesitantly, not enjoying lying to his patient. "He's fine. Just try and get some rest and I'll come back and see you later," he said lightly, as he patted the scientist on the arm.

McKay groaned. "Oh my God. You lied to me. He is dead, isn't he?"

"No, no! I wouldn't lie to you. He's not dead. Colonel Sheppard suffered some complications overnight that have nothing to do with his leg wound," Beckett reassured the physicist.

McKay snorted, and grinned dangerously. "No, you lied by omission," he scathingly retorted. "I may be drugged, Carson - but even doped, I'm not completely witless."

Beckett looked embarrassed. "I didn't want to worry you, Rodney. I'm sorry…"

"What happened?" McKay interrupted the doctor's apology.

Carson sighed and wearily massaged his aching neck.

"It's probably my fault," he confessed. "He had some internal bleeding. I thought it might resolve itself, and it didn't," he explained guiltily. "When it was obvious it hadn't settled down, we went in, and things went downhill pretty rapidly from there," he explained. A pained expression graced his tired face.

"And?" McKay pressed for more information.

Beckett exhaled, but looked Rodney in the eye. "Colonel Sheppard had lost a lot of blood before we operated. When we opened him up, he haemorrhaged badly and went in to D.I.C.," he explained, not expecting McKay to understand what that meant.

"He what?" McKay asked breathlessly. Seeing Carson's face, the physicist snorted. "I'm well aware of the condition, Carson. Hello? Genius here," he sarcastically reminded the doctor.

McKay continued his diatribe. "So, Sheppard bled out everywhere? Lovely. How considerate of him. Typical, though. Just when you think he's dodged the proverbial bullet, he makes a dive right in front of it, just to spite you," he ranted. "Let me guess. You used every blood product available, pulled him back from the jaws of death, but now he's in a coma and you're not sure if he's going to make it or not? God, he's so predictable," he groaned.

"Rodney!" Carson raised his voice more than he'd intended.

McKay looked at Beckett. "Was I wrong?" he asked.

Carson huffed and grinned sadly. "No," he answered simply.

"Just out of interest. How strong was the happy injection you gave me? I only ask because Sheppard always seems to get the superior ones, and just in case you're wondering, I actually don't feel that happy at the moment," he babbled, " and surely the whole point of your 'Happy Injection'," McKay motioned with two fingers on each hand in the air, "is that I feel happy. So I think it's only fair I inform you that that your injection is failing abysmally."

McKay closed his eyes, opening them once he had controlled his emotions.

"I'm so tired of asking this, Carson," he said sadly. "Is he going to die?" McKay looked earnestly into Beckett's bright blue eyes, hoping to retrieve an honest answer from them.

"I really don't know, Rodney," he whispered, and for the first time McKay noticed the exhaustion in his friend's features. "He's still not clotting properly, and there's not a lot else I can do. I'm tired of saying this too, but it's really up to him," he answered sadly.

McKay nodded. "I want to see him," he demanded.

Carson held up his hands in protest. "Absolutely not. I haven't even let Elizabeth or Teyla…"

"I don't care. Take me in a wheelchair, do what you have to do. I need to speak to him," he interrupted.

Beckett shook his head. "No. Not only is he too sick to have visitors but you're not well enough to visit him either," he asserted.

McKay searched Beckett's face for understanding. "Carson, after what we went through together, I really need to see him. There's something I have to tell him, and if he dies before I get the chance, I'll never forgive you," he said honestly.

"Fine. I'll take you in the wheelchair," Carson reluctantly capitulated, "but fifteen minutes maximum – no arguments," he warned.

Rodney smiled his lopsided grin. "Fifteen minutes. Thank you," he agreed quietly.

-oOo-

McKay balked as he looked at Sheppard lying deathly still in his infirmary bed. He noted all the IV lines leaving the colonel's body; one in his neck, one in his left forearm, and even one snaking out from under the sheet in Sheppard's uninjured leg. Rodney saw the ventilator tube in Sheppard's mouth, and he grimaced, as he became aware of the catheter snaking out from under the sheets, along with a blood filled drainage tube. Sheppard's partially naked chest rose slowly and regularly. The colonel's body was littered with blood soaked dressings, even his sutured head wound seeped blood.

McKay looked around at Beckett.

"He looks dead," Rodney sadly commented. "You have to do something!" he cried desperately.

"Rodney, I'm doing all I can," Carson replied gently. "I'm giving him more plasma and blood, but I can't risk give him any clotting agents, as multiple clots forming are what caused this problem in the first place," he explained.

McKay snorted. "I already told you I know what D.I.C. is. Just because you gave me a dose of happy juice, and a not very effective one I might add, that doesn't mean my brain isn't firing on all cylinders. Though even if it weren't, it'd still be far superior to anybody else's around here," he babbled nervously.

Beckett cleared his throat. "Rodney, you have ten minutes left now, so you'd better hurry up and say what you want to," he reminded the anxious physicist. Turning to his nurse, who was checking the colonel's vitals, Beckett gestured with his head towards the gap in the privacy screens. "Rodney, Melissa and I will be waiting outside. Make it brief, please," Carson added, before leaving with the nurse.

Rodney sat in his wheelchair and wondered how to say what he needed to. He didn't want to accept that it was a possibility that his friend could die, yet looking at him lying there looking utterly helpless and devoid of life, he conceded it was likely.

Falteringly, Rodney began to speak, his voice broken and full of emotion.

"Hey," he began. "You don't look so good, though you probably don't look as bad as you did when you were morphing into the bug," he joked. Not quite being able to bring himself to laugh, he sighed. "Well, anyway, ah, I just wanted to say thank you. You stopped me from doing something really stupid, and you were right. I know that makes a change." Rodney smiled. "The team did come for us, they did save us, as you said they would. So…thank you for not letting me ruin everything." He paused as an overwhelming tiredness suddenly hit him, making him yawn. "I also wanted to tell you that I'm sorry I helped shoot you. I tried to get the gun from Cyclops' hand, and – well, I obviously didn't do a very good job, did I?" he asked in a solemn self-berating voice. "So, get better, okay? I don't think you realise what you're doing to Carson. He looks as though he's aged ten years in the last twenty-four hours, and as usual, it's all your fault," he gently chastised Sheppard. "Get better and make Carson look human again. That would definitely be a good thing to do. I have quite a few artefacts needing your magic gene too, and the sooner you stop bleeding everywhere, the sooner we can study them."

Carson entered through the gap in the screens.

"Rodney, come on, time to get you back to bed," he ordered gently.

McKay looked round at the doctor and smiled grimly. "Right." Turning back to Sheppard, he struggled to find any more words.

"So, Colonel. Stop vying for Carson's attention, and share him with everybody else. I'm injured as well you know," he half-joked.

Beckett snorted. "As if you don't get your fair share of attention, Rodney," he replied in an amused voice. "Come on, you can see the colonel later, when you've had a sleep," Carson told the physicist as he pushed the wheelchair and IV pole back to McKay's bed.

Once Rodney was situated comfortably in bed again, Beckett topped him up with some more painkillers, and left him to rest.

-oOo-

Rodney was awoken later by someone sitting by his bed. Feeling dazed and tired, he rubbed his eyes with his hands, grimacing as the IV line pulled in his hand. Having oriented himself, he suddenly realised the person he could now focus on was Kate Heightmeyer.

"Rodney? How are you feeling, would you like a drink?" she asked.

"Yes. Like crap, and yes again," he answered all of Kate's questions in one go.

After sipping from the straw the psychologist had put to his dry lips, he started, as he remembered the colonel's condition.

"How's the colonel?" he asked urgently.

Kate smiled grimly. "Hanging in there, is how Carson described his situation a while ago," she answered honestly.

McKay huffed. "No change?"

"He's no worse, I understand," Kate replied trying to look positive, Rodney thought.

McKay grimaced, "I suppose that's something," he conceded. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked, having no idea how long how much time he'd missed.

Kate looked at her watch. "About five hours. I thought it would be a good idea for you and I to have a talk," the psychologist stated.

"Actually, as surprising as it might sound, I'd rather not, if you don't mind," Rodney replied in an almost apologetic voice.

Kate nodded. "If you don't want to talk, that's fine, I can come back. I thought, perhaps, you might want to discuss what happened back on the planet?" she pressed, hoping to get the physicist to open up.

McKay bristled at Heightmeyer's suggestion. "I think I can honestly say I never want to think about that again, let alone talk about it," he answered angrily.

"It's important you discuss what you're feeling, Rodney. You experienced some traumatic events, and bottling your feelings up will only hurt you," she asserted.

Rodney flinched. "Just get the hell out of here. You want to discuss my feelings when Colonel Sheppard could be bleeding to death? Just go away and leave me alone. God, Sheppard was right, you psychologists are like bloodhounds waiting to feed on any juicy morsel that you can sniff out. GET OUT!" he yelled at the top of his voice.

Kate immediately backed away, shock obvious in her shaken expression.

"We can talk later," she soothed as she left.

-oOo-

Heightmeyer, Weir and Carson sat in Beckett's small office.

"It's not like Rodney to not want to unburden himself and be so overtly aggressive, Kate. What's going on?" Beckett asked the psychiatrist.

Kate shook her head. "He's totally traumatised by the torture he endured and witnessed. He became hostile when I tried to get him to talk about it, which is not like him," she began. "He's had a terrifying experience and from what I can gather, may feel he let the colonel down. He's in a very delicate mental state, and he's going to need a lot of help to get through this," she warned.

Weir sighed and chewed her bottom lip. "The two most important men on Atlantis are incapacitated. My military commander is in critical condition, my head of science is mentally and emotionally traumatised." She paused as she tried to control herself. "One of my best friend's could die at any minute, another is a complete emotional mess." Weir shook her head in disbelief. "How the hell did this happen?" she rhetorically asked.

Carson and Heightmeyer eyed each other nervously.

"Does it matter how or why it happened?" Kate asked. "Let's just try and get through it, Elizabeth," she soothed.

Weir put her head in her hands, and then sat up, endeavouring to compose herself.

"I'm sorry," she apologised. "Has there been any change in John's condition?" she asked hopefully.

Beckett shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid not."

"What can we do?" Weir asked helplessly.

Carson grimaced. "As far as Colonel Sheppard goes, I'm doing all I can. We're monitoring him closely and supplementing him all we can," he explained. "I suspect Rodney's deeply affected by the colonel's current situation, and that we'll only be able to help him when the colonel has recovered somewhat," he hypothesised.

"_If_ he recovers," Weir said bleakly. "Tell me he's not going to die, Carson," she half begged.

Beckett looked Atlantis' leader in the eye. "I can't do that, Elizabeth, you know that," he answered forlornly.

"Can we send John through the 'gate? Could they help him on Earth?" she asked hopefully.

Carson shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I doubt he'd survive a trip through the 'gate, and they couldn't do anything else anyway," he assured Weir. "We really just have to cross our fingers and hope he can pull through," he added.

Weir nodded sadly. "Will you let me see him now?" she asked.

"Aye, just for a little while, though," Carson agreed.

As Weir sat by Sheppard's bed, she desperately craved to touch the prone man, to offer some physical comfort and support to him. Looking at his splinted hands and his bruised and bleeding body, she couldn't find anywhere uninjured to touch.

"Please don't die John," she quietly begged as she began her lonely vigil at Sheppard's bedside.

Tbc.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8.

_I apologise for the delay in updating. I've had some illness in my family and have been visiting the hospital a lot. Thanks, as always, goes to Kodiak for her beta skills._

Elizabeth sat quietly watching as Sheppard's chest rose and fell rhythmically. The ventilator did it's job well, she knew that, but it was unnerving to know that John was not breathing under his own steam; that he was so reliant on the machinery around him to keep him alive. John lay eerily quiet and still. His hair was damp with sweat, his face slack and youthful. The usual lines around his eyes that showed when he was worried or laughing were absent. Elizabeth smiled as she noticed how innocent and untouched his features looked. Her smile faded as she realised that John looked vulnerable, and it suddenly scared her to see him like that. She yearned to see him smile, to laugh – even to hear him shout in anger. John was never still, he was always in motion, and it was unnatural to see him so lifeless.

"John? It's Elizabeth," she said quietly. "We need you to pull through this." The soft, rhythmic hiss of the ventilator continued on without pause. Elizabeth pursed her lips and fought to be as constant and dependable. "Rodney's coming apart, and he really needs you to get better. He needs you to help him through everything."

She paused as she thought of her head of science. Though he was sleeping again, Elizabeth knew how badly Sheppard's torture had affected the physicist, and she was terrified what would happen to Rodney, and her, if she were honest, if John died. A lump suddenly appeared in Elizabeth's throat, making her swallow to try and clear it, and fighting back tears, she reached out to touch John's upper right arm, which was one of the few places he was uninjured.

"I'm really worried about Rodney," Weir continued. "He was aggressive towards Kate, and despite his bluster and sarcasm, he's just not like that, is he?" she asked the unconscious man, knowing she wouldn't receive an answer. "I'm not sure I did the right thing, John. If I didn't, then I'm so sorry."

Elizabeth thought about the little she'd learned about the order of events on the planet, designated G6B-526, where Sheppard and McKay had been captured and so brutally treated. Had she done the right thing in contacting the Torellians? Would it have been better to just make the retrieval, and not try and negotiate with them?

Teyla and Ronon had witnessed the Torellians capture of Sheppard and had guessed that McKay had been captured too when he didn't follow them through the 'gate. Fortunately the two warriors had managed to escape back to Atlantis. They'd advised against negotiating with the Torellians. Ronon had explained that he knew firsthand that they were ruthless mercenaries with a reputation for brutality, and had insisted that a rescue team was the only way to retrieve the missing men. Teyla had explained that the Torellian's could not be trusted, but Elizabeth had decided she'd try and negotiate first.

It was Lorne speaking to Elizabeth privately, and telling her that he trusted Ronon's opinion on the matter, and that he believed Sheppard would too, that had Elizabeth capitulating and giving the go-ahead for the mission to bring back John and Rodney by force, even though the negotiations had started. Had she made the right decision? She didn't know the answer to that question, and the thought that she may have made matters worse for the two men was eating away at her. Realising that torturing herself was getting her nowhere, and certainly not helping Sheppard or McKay, Elizabeth looked across at the pale man lying in his infirmary bed.

"John? I want you to get better, and that's an order. I know you're not always good at following orders, but this one is non-negotiable. Please don't die. We need you. I need you," she implored. "I can't run this city without you – you know that. I don't like the military much, as I think you've probably guessed." she smiled briefly, before continuing. "You're not the typical military man, though, are you? I think that's why we get on so well. So get better, please," she implored, as she took in a shuddering breath as her grip on her emotions momentarily failed her.

Elizabeth wiped angrily at her face as tears trickled down her face.

"I hope you realise you're making me cry?" she chastised her unconscious military commander. "I don't like crying, so you can just get better really soon. Ronon and Teyla need you as well, you know," Elizabeth informed Sheppard, as she composed herself. "Teyla's been praying and meditating. Ronon's been beating the hell out of some of the marines. Well, he's been training them _and_ beating the hell out of them," she corrected herself, allowing herself to smile.

A sound behind her made Weir turn around, and she was surprised to see Rodney being wheeled into the intensive care area.

"Rodney? How are you feeling?" Weir asked brightly, hoping that Rodney and the nurse who was wheeling his chair wouldn't notice her slightly puffy eyes and damp face.

"I'm fine. How's the colonel?" McKay asked brusquely.

Weir scrutinised the physicist's features, and sensing he wasn't in the mood for idle chatter, she sighed sadly.

"He's no worse, which Carson says is an encouraging sign," she answered.

McKay smiled grimly. "I suppose so. He still looks dead," he added matter-of-factly.

Elizabeth started at Rodney's blunt comment. "He's not dead. He's in a coma so he can heal. Carson says he hopes to see some improvement soon, and at least he's stable," she said a little harshly.

McKay huffed. "He still looks dead," he repeated solemnly.

"Well he's not. I think he's got a little more colour in his cheeks," Weir lied.

Rodney looked blankly at Weir. "If you say so," he stated coldly.

Weir bristled at the physicist's comment. "Yes, I do. We have to stay positive and support John, not give up on him," she admonished McKay.

"You think I want him to die? Well, I don't," Rodney answered, his voice strained and raising in volume as he spoke. "You have no idea what we've been through, and as much as I want him to get better, I don't want to see him suffer. God knows I've witnessed enough of that," he stated angrily. "I can't bear not knowing what's going to happen to him. It's driving me insane, seeing him like this," Rodney gestured with his hand at the injured pilot, "so weak and vulnerable. Sheppard isn't meant to be like this," he commented in an exasperated tone. "He was so strong in the cell. He made me feel like a coward. He told me he was frightened but that he was trained not to show it. I didn't believe him then and I still don't," he ground out.

McKay put his head in his hands, and after a few seconds looked directly at Weir.

"I was going to tell them everything, Elizabeth. I couldn't take it anymore. They were slowly killing him, and he wouldn't let me say anything," he whispered. "I couldn't just sit there and witness it, so I told him I was going to talk. Do you know what he did?" Rodney's voice was now high-pitched and desperate. "He told me not to give in, not to let them break me. He told me his life wasn't worth it. Can you believe he'd say that?" he demanded, his voice broken, his chest heaving as he battled to control his fast breathing, as it irritated his damaged ribs.

Elizabeth reached out and took McKay's hand in her own. "Yes, I can," she answered simply.

"The Torellians would've sold us to the highest bidders, and Atlantis could have been compromised. I – I just can't do this anymore. Whatever happens to the colonel, I'm going to ask to be transferred back to Earth. I'm resigning as Head of Science on Atlantis, Elizabeth," McKay dropped his bombshell in a controlled and emotionless voice. "I want to return with the Daedalus. I'm sorry, but I never want to go through that again. Take me back to my bed now," he ordered. "I really need to lie down," he slipped into an angry plea, his voice broken and spent.

Beckett arrived just as Weir stood.

"I'm glad you're leaving, Elizabeth. I was just coming to tell you to get some rest, and I need to check the colonel again anyway," he informed Weir. "Are you going so soon, Rodney?" he asked the physicist in surprise.

McKay looked straight ahead. "I asked Elizabeth to take me back to my bed. I don't want to sit here and see him like this," McKay answered dejectedly.

Beckett looked at Weir, his eyebrows raised in concern. She shook her head at the doctor. "Well, some more rest will do you good," Beckett said brightly. "Elizabeth, ask Melissa to settle Rodney, I need to discuss a few things with you after I've checked on the colonel," he added.

Weir nodded and pushed McKay's wheelchair back to his bed, and handed the physicist over to the care of the nurse.

After a few minutes, Beckett left the curtained area around Sheppard's bed, and gestured for Weir to follow him to his office.

Once they were seated, Beckett looked at Weir. "What's going on?" he asked in concern.

Weir shook her head in disbelief. "Rodney just resigned," she answered numbly.

Beckett raised his eyebrows, then smiled grimly. "I can't say I'm surprised," he replied in an understanding voice.

"What? Rodney, wanting to leave Atlantis doesn't surprise you?" she asked in astonishment.

Carson exhaled, before explaining his comment. "He's been through hell, Elizabeth. Rodney's been deeply traumatised by Colonel Sheppard's torture and his own self-perceived weakness. This is a knee-jerk reaction, and quite normal," he explained. "Rodney wants to get away from here and never have to face anything like the events he's just witnessed again," he continued. "He'll change his mind. However, until we know what's happening with the colonel, there's not much we can do for Rodney, I'm afraid."

Weir nodded her head in understanding. "Okay, that makes sense. I can see where he's coming from," Weir ran her hand through her hair. "God, this is such a mess. How's John?" she asked, suddenly remembering Carson had just examined the colonel.

Beckett let out a small huff of air. "He's a little better, I think. His wounds aren't seeping as much, and the output from the drainage tube from his chest is less. I've taken some more bloods, so I'll have a better idea when I get the results back, but – I hope he's turned the corner," he informed the anxious woman, a small smile on his lips.

"That sounds encouraging. What do we do about Rodney?" Weir asked.

Beckett grimaced. "He just opened up to you, and that's a good sign. We now know for sure what's bothering him. We need to get the colonel better so he can talk to Rodney, he'll be able to get through to him," he stated, for the first time seeing a possible happy ending in sight. "Of course, it's not quite as simple as that. They're both going to need quite a few sessions with Kate."

Weir nodded. "I think we all will," she laughed.

"Aye, that we will. Nobody could ever say it's boring in the Pegasus Galaxy, could they?" Carson joked, finally feeling able to bring some levity to their conversation.

Elizabeth smiled warmly. "No. Boring is one thing it never is here. I'm going to catch up on some paperwork. You'll let me know if anything happens?" she asked.

Beckett nodded. "Of course. Get something to eat, please. You're looking a little pasty, Elizabeth," Beckett ordered.

"Yes, sir," Weir joked, as she left.

-oOo-

"Good morning, Rodney." McKay opened his eyes as he heard Beckett's cheerful voice.

"Is it?" the physicist answered blankly.

Carson sighed. "Yes. I thought you'd like to know that the colonel is much better this morning. I'm hoping that I'll be able to extubate him this afternoon. He's doing really well," he added cheerily.

McKay stared blankly ahead. "That's, ah, good. Will he be okay? I mean really okay?" he asked, his voice a little on edge.

Beckett considered carefully before answering.

"I think, barring any complications, that he's going to live," he answered honestly. "He's got a long way to go before I can say for sure what his long-term prognosis will be. Though, knowing him he'll prove me wrong no matter what I say," he laughed. "I'm hopeful he'll be able to return to full active duty –eventually," he added.

McKay smiled. "Good. When can I leave here? I want to pack and be ready to leave when the Daedalus goes. It should be here tomorrow, and it's scheduled to be here for two days. I've got a lot so sort out, so…"

Beckett frowned. "You can leave tomorrow, when you've talked to Kate. I've asked her to come in this afternoon to talk to you."

"I see. Fair enough. Though I'm not going to talk about what happened. I told her before, I never want to discuss that again," McKay stressed forcefully.

"Okay. Do you want to visit the colonel? He's still unconscious, but I'm sure he'll know you're there," Beckett asked hopefully.

McKay's icy expression returned. "No. I'm tired. Maybe later," he answered coldly.

Beckett patted the physicist gently on the arm. "Okay. Get some rest. You can visit him after he's off the vent," he agreed, before leaving his patient to rest.

-oOo-

Sheppard's world was confused and full of pain. Everything throbbed, ached or hurt. Every shallow breath he took burned, and the more he tried to breathe, the more panic seemed to set in and the less oxygen seemed to reach his hungry lungs. He tried to call out, but all that escaped his lips was a muffled whimper. Had that been him? Whimpering? Why did everything hurt so much, and more importantly, where was he?

"Colonel? It's all right lad. Just take slow breaths. You need to calm down. I've just taken out the vent, and it's going to take a little time for your body to get used to breathing again. Yes, that's it, well done." Beckett's soothing yet firm voice comforted John.

Sheppard felt the oxygen mask firmly pressed over his face, and took in Beckett's words. Gradually breathing became easier, the craving for air less consuming. Despite the waves of agony pounding through his body, John peeled open his eyes, squinting to try and bring Beckett's face into focus.

Flinching as the ever-present penlight was shone into his eyes, Sheppard realised he was in the Atlantis infirmary, and in Beckett's care. So where was the patented Beckett happy injection this time? He vaguely remembered having one earlier, at least he thought he did, so why no more?

"That's a wee bit better now, isn't it?" Beckett's voice soothed. "I know you're in a fair amount of pain, and I'll give you something for that in a minute, I promise, but I need you to wake up a bit first. Can you tell me where you are?" Carson asked.

Sheppard smiled weakly. "'Lantis," he slurred, his voice muffled by the mask.

Carson smiled down at the colonel. "That's right, lad. Do you remember what happened?"

John tried to remember what had landed him in the infirmary, and was suddenly assaulted with memories of pain being inflicted on him.

"They hurt me… asked questions…Rodney? Where's Rodney?" he asked breathlessly.

Beckett fumbled in his pocket and retrieved a syringe. As he emptied the contents into one of Sheppard's IV ports he smiled comfortingly.

"He's fine. He's asleep over there," he answered pointing to the far side of the infirmary. "He's not happy at the moment. But physically, he's on the mend," Carson answered honestly.

Beckett saw the concern on Sheppard's face. "Now, don't go worrying about Rodney," he piped up before John could say anything. "He'll be fine. He's just finding it hard to accept what's happened, and he's been really worried about you. Now you're on the mend too, he'll be right as rain in no time," he assured his patient. "I've given you something for the pain. Rodney'll be jealous when he knows you got the good stuff again," Beckett joked. "Just get some sleep, and I'll send Rodney to see you later," Carson added.

Sheppard nodded feebly. "'Kay," he slurred before closing his eyes, as the morphine pulled him into a deep, painless sleep.

Beckett squeezed Sheppard's arm gently. "I just hope you can talk some sense into the daft bugger, Colonel. If you don't, then we're going to be short of a Head Scientist," he lamented. As he walked away, leaving the privacy screens open so McKay would be able to see the sleeping colonel when he woke up, Carson shook his head. "What a bloody mess," he complained. "I just hope we can fix everything this time," he muttered as he walked away.

Tbc.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9.

_Thank you for the fantastic reviews, I really appreciate the effort it takes to bother! Many thanks to the wonderful Kodiak for her beta skills. I hope you don't all think this is a little over the top - but, I really couldn't just help myself..._

Sheppard slowly prised open his heavy eyelids. Everything was blurred, and yet again he woke to overwhelming pain, enveloping and suffocating him.

John could make out a figure in the periphery of his blurry vision, a giant, imposing shape, and instantly fear hit him. God, he was still on the planet, and Cyclops was torturing him again.

"I won't tell you anything…so just…get it over and done with," he moaned breathlessly.

The blurred hulk now standing over Sheppard snorted.

"Didn't ask you to tell me anything. You dreaming again, Sheppard?" John instantly recognised the Ronon's gruff voice.

"Ronon? Have you come to rescue me?" Sheppard asked in surprise, moaning as another wave of pain crashed through him.

"Doc? You'd better get over here. Sheppard's not doing so good," the Satedan called out.

Sheppard blinked as he saw Carson's face looming over him.

"Doc?" Sheppard asked in confusion. "You making house calls?"

Beckett tutted and Sheppard was aware of a tug on his arm.

"No, Colonel. I've just given you a little something to ease your pain. You're in the infirmary on Atlantis. You and Rodney are safe and are going to be fine. Do you understand?"

John frowned in concentration.

"I'm in the infirmary? You sure?" he asked drunkenly, wheezing as he talked, and grimacing as each breath he took burned.

Beckett exhaled. "Yes, I'm quite sure. You've been here for a couple of days. Don't you remember?"

Sheppard closed his eyes, opening them after a few seconds. "No. Thought I was in the cell and that Cyclops was…" He stopped as a sharp pain took his breath away and he distantly became aware of alarms ringing out. The last thing Sheppard was aware of was a crushing pain in his chest, and a slick, coppery taste in his mouth – he vaguely recognised it as blood. He saw Beckett's concerned face looming over him, shouting, as everything faded to black.

-oOo-

McKay stared as Ronon sat watching over Sheppard. He knew the colonel was off the vent, and also knew he should be sitting with him too. Rodney knew deep down he was putting off the inevitable, and that he owed it to Sheppard to be honest enough to explain to him why he would be leaving with the Daedalus in a few days. McKay was at a loss as how to actually say the words to his friend. As he sat up in bed, his brain trying to find an easy and painless way to explain to everything, Heightmeyer arrived.

"Rodney?" the psychologist began, "Am I disturbing you?"

McKay looked up at the blonde-haired woman.

"Actually – yes. I suppose it's best to get this over and done with, isn't it?" he asked in a resigned voice.

Kate frowned. "I would have hoped, after all the sessions we've had together over the last year or so, that you'd have been comfortable talking to me," she began a little self-defensively.

"It's nothing personal, Kate. You've been very – helpful, in the past," Rodney explained, feeling a little guilty for making Kate feel unsure of herself. "But, I know you're here to talk about what happened to…" McKay faltered as his emotions overwhelmed him. Composing himself, he continued. "What happened to Colonel Sheppard and me on the planet." The words flew out of his mouth, not giving McKay time to think about what he'd said. "I can't talk about it. Not to you, not to anyone. I really want to put it behind me and forget it," he stated firmly.

Heightmeyer nodded her head. "I understand how you feel. I'll leave you alone if that's what you really want, but just answer this: after the past sessions we've had, does your experience tell you it's wise to bury your feelings and to not face what you've suffered?" she asked.

McKay blinked rapidly, trying to ease his burning eyes.

"Is it wise?" McKay snorted. "Probably not," he conceded, "but, I don't want to talk about it – really. I need to go back to Earth, and get away from this hellhole. I used to love it here. Well, except for the nearly dying all the time, and the Wraith, Genii and God knows how many other hostile aliens we seem to piss off on such a regular basis." Rodney looked over towards Sheppard's bed, and smiled at Ronon keeping his vigil.

"The colonel's going to be okay, and he's got a lot of people here who care about him, so it's not as if he'll miss me or anything. I mean, I won't exactly be abandoning a friend in his hour of need, will I?" he asked in a sarcastic voice.

Heightmeyer's expression was neutral, Rodney noticed. "Is that why you're leaving, to get away from Colonel Sheppard?" the psychologist gently put to McKay.

"No, of course not! Why would you think that? I meant that I don't want to be here anymore, and that the colonel doesn't need me. I've simply had enough of the Pegasus Galaxy," Rodney replied in an irate voice.

Kate nodded again. "So you say. You and the colonel are good friends, aren't you?"

McKay looked at Heightmeyer suspiciously. "We're friends, I'm not sure I'd say 'good' friends though," he answered tentatively.

"Really? You've been through an awful lot together recently. You both appear to rely on each other frequently."

McKay frowned. "I suppose so. Look, we're friends and we work well together, but me leaving has got nothing to do with him having a death wish or anything. Just because he has this wonderful self-sacrificing streak, doesn't mean I can't stand being around him. Though, if I'm honest, it's starting to wear a little thin now," he laughed a little too loudly. "So, if you're implying that I'm being cowardly and running back to Earth so I won't have to watch my best buddy get hurt again - well, you're wrong." McKay's words tumbled out at breakneck speed.

Kate put down her palm pilot, and locked eyes with the physicist.

"Nobody would ever call you cowardly, Rodney. Least of all me, and especially not Colonel Sheppard."

McKay flinched at Kate's words.

"Of course Sheppard thinks I'm a coward!" he retorted. "You didn't see me in the cell. I went to pieces, and he was Mr Stoicism itself. So brave, so unyielding. Me…" Rodney paused, swallowing as his throat closed up. "I…I screwed up – again. If he can't depend on me, there's no point in me being here, is there? Have you any idea what they did to him?" Rodney demanded. "Have you read Carson's little dossier on Sheppard's injuries?"

Kate shook her head. "Not yet," she admitted.

McKay snorted. "Didn't think so. Well, where do we begin? Oh yes, they beat the shit out of him, bruising his kidney, breaking some ribs, they hit him so hard they caused internal bleeding. They burned him, cut him with a knife, re-arranged his fingers, and to round it all off – they shot him, assisted very ably by yours truly!" Rodney paused to catch his breath. Sweat trickled from his forehead, and he took in shuddering breaths, as his arm protectively hugged his own damaged ribs. "I never want to have to go through that again!" he swore, before collapsing back into his pillows, and bringing his other arm up to cover his eyes.

"What you're feeling is perfectly normal, Rodney. You witnessed something horrendous and inhumane, as well as suffering physically yourself. You can't just walk away from that sort of thing. It takes time and patience to come to terms with the sort of violence and indignity you've both endured," Kate soothed and assured the scientist.

McKay moaned in frustration. "You don't get it, do you?" he asked in a high-pitched, overwrought voice. "They broke me. They won. They hurt Sheppard to get me to talk and I was about to give in – until he stopped me, by yet again being so selfless and brave. He made me feel useless and pathetic, and I hate how he made me feel."

Heightmeyer picked up her palm pilot and started to jot something down. McKay moved his arm from his eyes, and looked up at Kate.

"Is that why you're leaving? Because Colonel Sheppard made you feel inadequate?" Kate questioned.

McKay looked at the pyschologist like a frightened child.

"Yes – I mean, no! I don't know any more!" he cried out in confusion. "He made me feel so pathetic. The worst thing is, he didn't judge me. He didn't even blame me. All the time he told me to do what I had to, to get through it all. He supported me, helped me, when it should have been the other way round," Rodney tried to explain. "He was hurting so bad, and he just wanted to protect me and Atlantis. His own welfare was irrelevant to him – and that just makes me feel worse. Sheppard's my friend, and I care about him…but, but, now I hate him too, because every time I look at him - I remember."

McKay paused, and took in a shuddering breath. "I remember hearing him cry out in pain, seeing him suffer, but worst of all I remember how cowardly I was. I hate him for making me feel that way, and I hate myself for feeling that way about him. How do you think that makes me feel? I must be the most selfish bastard in the galaxy…probably in the universe. I have to leave here, if I don't then I think I'll probably go insane," McKay ground out wearily

Heightmeyer put her hand gently on McKay's forearm.

"Rodney? Listen to me," she began calmly. "What happened to both of you is beyond comprehension. I can't imagine what you're feeling, but I want to help. Will you let me?" she entreated the physicist.

McKay smiled grimly, as he fought for control of his breathing. "I'm not sure you can. My head is screaming at me to get away from here, maybe from the colonel too. I really need to leave Atlantis – it's just too painful to stay, and I really don't think anything is going to change my mind," he answered firmly.

"What about Colonel Sheppard?" Kate asked. "Did it ever occur to you that he might need your help to get over this, and that by running away you'll actually be hurting him more?"

Rodney's face darkened in anger. "Is that your trump card? Try to guilt me into staying?" he demanded venomously.

Heightmeyer smiled sadly. "No. I was actually thinking about the colonel. He's going to need a lot of help too. I thought you'd want to help him, seeing as how, as you've already said, he's suffered so much," the psychologist explained. "I hoped both of you could talk to each other. Research has shown that victims of atrocities, such as you've both suffered, benefit from joint counselling."

"Joint counselling? Are you serious? Just go. I need to think about everything," Rodney's voice offered no compromise.

Kate nodded. "Okay. We've made a lot of progress already, you know. Just think about what I've said," she asked in earnest.

Rodney didn't answer as Heightmeyer left, and felt his gaze drawn over towards Sheppard's bedside. He noticed Carson had now joined Ronon at the colonel's side. Smiling absent-mindedly, Rodney settled into his pillows, until he jolted in panic as he heard the alarms around Sheppard's bed sounding. Carefully getting out of bed, McKay started to walk cautiously over to the area of commotion, just to have Ronon backing into him.

"What's going on?" he asked the Satedan.

Ronon shook his head. "Don't know. Sheppard's not looking so good. Doc just ordered me out," he shrugged casually, though Rodney could see the concern in the man's face.

McKay involuntarily gasped as Sheppard's bed was wheeled out of the infirmary briskly, Beckett kneeling on the bed giving chest compressions, a nurse running alongside holding an ambu-bag over the colonel's face.

"Jesus! What the hell's wrong with him now?" McKay cried out in desperation.

Ronon shrugged again. "Don't know. Beckett said something about a 'PE', whatever that is," he informed the physicist.

McKay's heart thumped in his chest.

"Oh God. Pulmonary Embolism. This is so unfair!" he wailed.

Ronon's face showed his confusion. "Never heard of it. What is it?" he asked.

McKay groaned. "It's when a blood clot becomes lodged in the artery leading to the lungs. It's really, really dangerous. He's going to die, isn't he?" he moaned, as he started to waver. Ronon promptly led McKay back to his bed and helped him to lie down.

"Is there anything Beckett can do?" Ronon asked quietly.

Rodney exhaled. "Yes, yes. Of course there are treatments, but it depends how bad it is. Oh this is just typical, isn't it?" he bemoaned. "Just as I think he's getting better he pulls the old PE on me. I really hate Sheppard. Remind me to tell him that when I next speak to him," McKay babbled.

Ronon snorted. "I'll remember to do that."

McKay lay back down in his pillows, and shook his head numbly.

"Don't do this to me Colonel. I really can't take any more. I'm sorry? Okay? Are you happy now? I'm suffering again, and it's your entire fault. Just…don't die – please!" he begged, as he prepared himself for the inevitable agonising wait ahead.

Tbc.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10.

_Yet again, I apologise for the delay in updating. I really don't like to keep readers waiting, but unfortunately the illness suffered by my dad is still meaning lengthy hospital visits. Thank you so much for the reviews, they really cheer me up! A special thanks to Kodiak, for her wonderful beta skills._

"Rodney, Ronon. What's happened? I got a call telling me to get down here. Has something happened to John?" Weir's worried voice echoed around the empty infirmary.

McKay lay propped on his pillows, staring blankly ahead.

"Sheppard got worse again," Ronon began to explain, "some sort of blood clot in his lungs, so McKay thinks," he grunted.

Weir paled, and nodded, eyeing McKay with concern.

"Are you all right, Rodney?" she asked quietly.

The physicist continued to stare ahead of him, his eyes unmoving, except for the occasional blink.

Weir leaned directly over McKay, and squeezed his shoulder gently.

"Rodney?" she called again, this time a little more forcefully.

Blinking, as if suddenly coming back to reality from a daydream, McKay shook his head.

"What?" Irritation was abundant in the scientist's voice.

Weir squeezed Rodney's shoulder again.

"I asked if you were all right?" she repeated in an anxious, but compassionate voice.

McKay smiled a little too widely. "Hah! Am I all right?" he repeated in an exasperated voice.

"Well, let's see, shall we? I've had the crap beaten out of me, I hurt everywhere, and probably have got internal bleeding that Carson hasn't been bothered to find yet," he moaned. "I was forced to watch my friend, oh so bravely, survive torture – and didn't he endure it well? His high pain threshold certainly serves him well when he's being burned or cut up, doesn't it?" Rodney exclaimed, hysteria starting to creep into his voice.

"I got to see Sheppard teeter on the brink of morbidity for the last two days, watched him get a little better, just for him to step into the abyss when I least expected it. I shouldn't be surprised though, should I? It's just the sort of thing he'd do - probably just to annoy me." McKay paused to take in a deep breath, and winced as his ribs complained. The physicist started to shake, his face blanching, as he continued. "I'm a selfish shit, who's only been thinking of himself, and just to round things off – I'm a coward and I hate not only myself, but the person who selflessly tried to help me in my clichéd 'darkest hour'. That a good enough answer for you?" Rodney yelled, as events started to get the better of him.

Weir backed away a little from McKay and turned to Ronon.

"Can you go and ask a nurse to call Dr. Heightmeyer, and explain what's happening here?" she surreptitiously asked.

Ronon grunted his assent, and strode off to find a nurse.

Weir eyed McKay compassionately, before moving nearer to him again.

"It's going to be okay. Just try and calm down. Kate's coming to talk to you, and when she's here, I'll go and find out about John," she assured the shaking man.

McKay shook his head, and Weir sighed as she saw a tear slip down his cheek.

"It's not okay, Elizabeth. It really isn't. I'm just about done here. I'm really starting to hate him. Why does he keep doing this to me?" he asked inbetween shuddering sobs.

Weir's eyebrows creased in confusion.

"Who do you hate? Who's done this to you?"

Rodney's glassy eyes met Elizabeth's.

"Sheppard, of course. Who else?" he replied coldly. "I can't wait to get away from him," he began, and seeing Weir's shocked and angry face, waved his hand in the air dismissively. "Oh, I know what you're going to say. Yes, yes – none of this is his fault. I know that. He's a good person – all brave and stoic, blah, blah, blah." McKay paused as he saw Kate approaching with a nurse in tow, with Ronon walking behind them. He watched suspiciously as Heightmeyer whispered something to the nurse, and the nurse walked away quickly.

"But, d'you know what?" he demanded, his voice unsteady and unrestrained. "I'm sick of it. Sheppard's the hero. Sorry, the _caring _hero," he corrected himself, " and I'm just his flawed genius sidekick. I don't want to be anywhere near him. He just reminds me of everything terrible that's happened to me, and let's be honest here - he's always around when the crap invariably hits the fan, and mostly it's his fault in the first place. So…I want to get the hell out of here - NOW!"

McKay started to climb out of his bed, his whole body shaking in rage and unleashed emotion.

"Where are my clothes?" he demanded. "I want my clothes! How the hell can I get out of here dressed like this?" he screamed.

Ronon walked purposefully towards McKay, Heightmeyer and the recently returned nurse trailing behind him this time.

"Rodney, let's try and calm down a bit. Get back in bed and we can talk about whatever's bothering you. Okay?" Kate's soothing voice pleaded.

McKay snorted. "Calm down! I don't think so. Get the hell out of my way – I'm leaving!" he exclaimed, as he continued to edge forward.

"McKay, get back into bed," Ronon ordered gruffly.

Rodney shook his head, laughing maniacally.

"I don't think so," he retorted, his voice uneven and taunting, as he raised his fists aggressively and approached Ronon.

"Don't make me put you back in bed, 'cause you won't like it if I do," Ronon warned, his voice steady, yet menacing.

McKay unexpectedly smacked his right fist into the Satedan's face, connecting firmly with Ronon's left eye, before the tall man had time to flinch.

The runner's head snapped back, and he grunted in surprise, before quickly recovering himself and grabbing McKay firmly by the arms and marching him back to the bed. McKay struggled and kicked out as Ronon pushed the physicist down, holding him with comparative ease.

Heightmeyer took a syringe from the nurse's hand, and moved forward, swiftly jabbing it in to McKay's writhing shoulder.

"What the hell was that? You're drugging me now, aren't you? Where's Carson? He'd never do this to me. Get Carson…I …want… Carson." McKay's childlike voice suddenly halted mid-sentence as the sedative took effect.

Ronon let go of his charge, and rubbed gently at his sore eye.

"He certainly packs a punch," he snorted, amused by McKay's well- aimed right-hander.

Weir slumped down in the nearest chair. Exhaling, she shook her head in disbelief.

"What the hell just happened?" she asked breathlessly.

Heightmeyer grimaced.

"I'm afraid Rodney just reached critical mass. I've sedated him, so hopefully, by the time he wakes up, he'll have calmed down a little. I should have seen this coming," she said, self-blame evident in her tone. "Do you have any idea if something triggered this episode?" the psychologist asked.

Weir inhaled sharply as she remembered the events leading up to McKay's breakdown.

"Oh God. John!" she exclaimed.

The nurse moved forward and put a hand on Weir's arm.

"Dr. Weir? I was on my way to speak to you before this happened. Dr. Beckett asked me to explain everything," Melissa began calmly. "Colonel Sheppard has developed a blood cot in one of the blood vessels leading to his lungs, which isn't uncommon, considering his injuries and the complications he's suffered. They're in surgery now, and are attempting to dissolve the clot," she smiled falteringly, before her face became serious again. "He said I should warn you that the colonel's condition is grave, though."

Weir bit her lower lip, and nodded. "Thank you," she answered quietly.

The nurse smiled sadly. "I need to go back now. Dr. Beckett will let you know as soon as there's any news," she informed the small group of people as she walked briskly away.

Weir sighed, and put a shaky hand to the back of her neck.

"Could this possibly get any worse?" she asked in an exasperated, wrung-out voice.

Heightmeyer knelt down in front of Weir.

"Probably not," she agreed. "Rodney's stable for now, but will need to be closely watched, so I need to find another nurse to take care of him. As Carson's unavailable, I'll need to page Dr. Lambert, too. When I'm done, we'll go and get a cup of coffee, okay? " she soothed. Looking up at Ronon, she grimaced. "I think you should get some ice for that eye. Who'd have thought Rodney would have been capable of that?" she mused.

Ronon probed his swollen face. "It's fine," he stoically replied. "McKay going to be okay?" he asked concisely.

"I really don't know, but with therapy – hopefully," Kate replied honestly. "Right, I'll go and find that nurse."

Weir eyed Ronon and winced. "Ouch," she sympathised. "How bad did John look?" Elizabeth suddenly asked.

"Wasn't breathing when he left here, Doc was doing chest compressions too, so – not great. Beckett's a good doctor, he'll sort him out," the Satedan answered confidently.

Weir nodded in agreement. "He's the best."

A nurse suddenly appeared, with Kate walking behind her.

"Come on. Let's get some coffee, while we wait for news," she ordered.

Weir and Ronon wearily left McKay's bedside, bracing themselves for yet another vigil.

-oOo-

The small ensemble of people had been waiting for an hour-and-a-half for news of Sheppard. Again, they sat, sprawled on chairs, anxiety obvious in their features.

As Beckett walked into the infirmary they all stiffened to attention.

"We managed to successfully dissolve the clot," Carson began, "and Colonel Sheppard is responding well to treatment. He did suffer a cardiac arrest - though we got him back again pretty quickly. My scans haven't found any evidence of damage to his lungs, which quite frankly, is a bloody miracle. He's on the vent again, but, all things considered, he's doing really well," Beckett concluded.

The group of anxiously waiting people let out a collective sigh of relief.

"Now, let's not get too over-excited. The colonel is still very ill, and may suffer some more setbacks. But – he's a lot better than he should be. Kate?" Carson asked, "what's the situation with Rodney?"

Heightmeyer exhaled. "He's suffered some sort of trauma induced breakdown. He was pretty wild for a while. I sedated him, so he's out for the count." She smiled gravely. "I've got my work cut out for me, I'm afraid."

Beckett tutted. "Aye, that you have. I'm not surprised about Rodney. The colonel's situation certainly isn't helping any," he sighed, as he ran a hand through his hair. "I can't help but think the colonel is the only one who'll be able to calm Rodney down and help him through this, not that he won't need some help of his own – he will, whether he likes it or not," he warned. "We need to get Rodney and the colonel talking, but that isn't going to be possible for at least the next twenty-four hours, and even then, Colonel Sheppard may not be coherent or well enough to speak to Rodney for several more days."

Weir put her head in her hands. Peering out from her fingertips, she sighed.

"This is all such a mess. How are we going to get through this? How are _they_ going to get through this?" she asked sadly, exhaustion and fear showing in her face.

Kate studied Weir's strained features, before answering. "Elizabeth? We'll work through it. I can't say everything will definitely be fine - but we all need to be strong for Colonel Sheppard and Rodney. They're both going to need our support, and there will be difficult times ahead. We'll pull together for both their sakes," she assured Elizabeth confidently and with resolve.

Weir sat upright and nodded. "Of course we will. I'm sorry…" she began.

Beckett interrupted her.

"No need to apologise. It's been a tough few days," Carson soothed. "We need to get the colonel better, and be positive and supportive towards Rodney. He may be difficult at times, but he's a good man, and this has only affected him so badly because he cares about Colonel Sheppard," he explained. "Right, off you all go. Elizabeth, get something to eat, and then rest. The same goes for the rest of you. I'll call if there's any news," he said firmly, before shooing the group of friends out of the infirmary.

-oOo-

Noise filtered into John's confused head. The steady beeping of a heart monitor, distant voices talking, echoing footsteps on the floor. Where was he this time, and more importantly what had happened? As he tried to drag himself into full consciousness, John suddenly felt an intrusive sensation in his throat. As his gag reflex kicked in, Sheppard choked, and he struggled to breathe. Panicking, he tried to move his hand to remove whatever was blocking his airway, only to be hit by wave upon wave of agonising pain throughout his body.

As his fear intensified, John managed to force his shaking hand to his mouth, and feeling a long cool tube there, weakly tugged at it, frantically trying to remove it before he suffocated. Instantly, he felt somebody's hand pulling his own away, and gently pressing it back down by the side of him.

"Colonel? Try and calm down. You're in the infirmary on Atlantis, and you have a tube in your throat to help you breathe. Just relax, and I'll take it out. You won't suffocate," the voice promised.

Despite the reassuring words, John continued to gag helplessly, and his head swam as he began to feel the effects of his lack of oxygen. The pain all over his body surged and overwhelmed him as he struggled desperately to breathe.

"I'm going to take out the tube. Just try and calm down. I want you to give as big as cough as you can when I tell you. Right - now," the voice ordered.

Sheppard coughed as forcefully as he was able to in his weakened state, and continued to gag as he felt the tube work its way past his trachea and throat, and finally out of his mouth. The relief was instant, and John breathed in precious oxygen from a mask which was rapidly placed on his face, his pain being momentarily forgotten.

"Just breathe slowly. That's it. Well done, Colonel," the voice soothed again. John recognised the soft lilt that belonged to Carson Beckett.

Trying to talk, John rasped and coughed feebly, as the words wouldn't form in his throat. The pain returned with a vengeance, and John coughed again as he tried to cry out.

"No, don't try and talk. You've been on the vent for over a day now. Just breathe, and I'll get you some ice chips to soothe your sore throat in a minute," Beckett explained sympathetically. "I know you're in pain, and I'm going to give you something for that now. Just be a wee bit patient with me," Carson warned gently. Sheppard nodded his head weakly in understanding, as he concentrated on breathing, and trying to control his relentless pain.

Once his head started to clear, as the oxygen nourished his complaining body, John felt a tug on his arm, and forcing his eyes open to slits, he focused, and saw Beckett injecting something into an IV line in his arm. Instantly relief flooded through his veins, and he exhaled in relief as the pain receded to a dull and distant throbbing.

"There. That should have you feeling a little better, I think," Beckett said hopefully. "Here we are, Melissa has brought your ice chips," he informed John brightly. "Thanks love," he said to his nurse, before lifting Sheppard's oxygen mask and placing a small sliver of ice between John's dry, chapped lips. John parted his lips accommodatingly, and inwardly sighed in relief, as the cool water trickled down his sore and abused throat. Never had simple H2O tasted so good, he thought distantly. Beckett quickly returned the mask to its previous position.

"That's a bit better isn't it?" Carson asked in a soft voice.

John managed a half-smile, and croaked out a weak 'Yeah…thanks," before closing his eyes as exhaustion claimed him.

"Get some rest, lad. You're going to need a hell of a lot of that in the coming days," Carson sighed, as he gently squeezed John's shoulder. "Then, the hard work really begins," he lamented, as he checked the monitors round John's bed, and sat down in the ever-present bedside chair, to keep his own watch over his healing patient.

Tbc.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11.

_Thank you for the reviews, they are really keeping me inspired. Again, thanks to the wonderful Kodiak for her superior beta skills_.

As awareness filtered into John's confused brain, he slowly opened his eyes, blinking to try and focus on his surroundings. Sensing someone was nearby, he tried to persuade his eyes to co-operate, and let him see who was sitting at his bedside. Slowly turning his head to get a better view, he flinched as his nasal cannula pulled at his face. When did he get that? God, he hated the damn things. Remembering that he was in the infirmary, he moved gingerly, testing what hurt and what didn't. Immediately, pain enveloped him, and he unwittingly let out a soft moan. John screwed his eyes shut, and panted to try and control the agony that clawed at him.

"Colonel? John?" the soft voice called in concern. Teyla, it was Teyla sitting, watching him.

Opening his eyes to slits, Sheppard gradually managed to bring the Athosian's pretty face into focus.

"Hey. You okay?" he croaked feebly, coughing as his dry throat closed up. Pain flared in his ribs and side, and it took all of his self-control not to cry out. Slowly the pain receded, but he felt breathless and spent. That probably explained the presence of the cannula, he thought distantly.

Teyla smiled warmly down at Sheppard.

"I am fine. Do you remember what has happened?" she asked gently.

John frowned as he put together the shattered images in his head. He had been captured, so had Rodney, and – tortured. That explained the pain, then. Where was McKay, had he got out okay? John struggled to remember the precise details of what had happened. Vivid images flashed in his head, instantly vanishing before he could make sense of them. He remembered seeing Rodney in pain, blood on his mouth, bruises on his cheek. He grimaced as he remembered his own brutal beatings, and the other cruel, vicious torture he'd endured. McKay's desperate and defeated face suddenly flashed before John's eyes, and lingered hauntingly in his memory.

"McKay?" he asked in alarm.

Teyla leaned forward and stroked Sheppard's arm soothingly, being careful to avoid the wound and IV there.

"He is sleeping. Do not concern yourself. He is safe, and will be fine," she said, being careful not to alert the colonel to McKay's worrying mental state. "Would you like some water? Carson said you may have a little, if you want to?" she asked brightly, trying to change the topic of conversation.

John nodded, and winced as the healing skin on his shoulders pulled. Looking at Teyla as she raised the head of his bed slightly, he saw something in her eyes, something she was trying to keep hidden, but as he went to ask her more about Rodney, a wave of pain coursed through his chest, making John's breath hitch.

"Are you in pain?" Teyla suddenly asked, noticing the expression on Sheppard's face, and his sharp inhalation.

As Teyla put the straw from the glass of water to John's lips, he shook his head carefully.

"'M g'd," he mumbled as he sipped the soothing, cool water.

"That is enough," the Athosian cautioned John. "Carson was quite specific that you only have small sips. He said he did not want you 'tossing your cookies'," Teyla's expression was quizzical, as she endeavoured to repeat the strange expression, "with so many sutures in you," she laughed softly.

John managed a feeble smile, and grimaced as he imagined what throwing up would do to his present pain level, which was already becoming difficult to tolerate.

"Me neither," he agreed quietly, wincing again as his leg started to throb mercilessly, with his ribs competing simultaneously for first place in the pain stakes.

Sheppard became aware of Teyla's concerned gaze, and instantly tried to relax his creased, pained features.

The Athosian stood, and smiled in understanding. Turning, she walked away, to return a few seconds later with Carson in tow.

"I see you're awake, Colonel. How are you feeling?" Beckett asked seriously, as he glanced at the monitors around Sheppard's bed.

John attempted a grin, but only succeeded in grimacing.

"All things considered, glad to be here," he answered truthfully, yet skilfully managing to avoid the question Beckett was really asking.

Beckett chuckled. "Aye, I'm betting you are, as are we. How's your pain?" he asked more specifically, knowing that the colonel would never ask outright for pain medication.

Sheppard gave his standard answer.

"I'm good," he whispered, trying to convince himself he really did feel that way.

"And I'm Sean Connery," Beckett retorted sarcastically. "How on Earth do you expect me to do my job if you're not truthful with me?" he chastised his patient. "Your pulse is up, and you're sweating like Rodney does when he sees Katie Brown," the doctor retorted. There was annoyance in Carson's voice, but also a little levity.

Sheppard chuckled at Beckett's remark, but quickly hissed as his body complained at his involuntary movements.

"Okay, 007," John said in response, "I feel like crap. Happy now?" Sheppard replied reluctantly, in a somewhat petulant voice.

Carson tutted and shook his head in disapproval. "Hardly. Good job I came prepared," he said in an exasperated voice. He swiftly injected the contents of a syringe from his pocket into Sheppard's IV port. "You know, I usually put up an analgesic pump so my patients can self-medicate. I wonder why I don't bother with you, Colonel?" he asked pointedly.

Teyla smiled sadly at Carson. "Because John would not use it, and lay in pain, suffering unnecessarily," she answered in an admonishing tone.

"Aye. Spot on, Teyla," he grinned at the Athosian, who bowed her head in acknowledgement.

Sheppard sighed as the medication reduced his pain to a dull throb. His eyelids drooped as the familiar cotton wool feeling returned to his brain.

"You really are a daft bugger, Colonel. You and Rodney make a right pair," Carson commented. "You're the most infuriating patient, as you don't come clean about your injuries and pain, and then whine constantly when want to leave my tender loving care," he complained. "Rodney, conversely, is the biggest hypochondriac I think I've ever met, and that's saying something. He begs to be drugged, and then whines to stay here," he continued, irritation obvious in his tone. "Sometimes, I'd like to bang your heads together!" he finally exclaimed.

"Think my head's been banged enough recently, Doc," Sheppard slurred. "Rodney's always saying I can't afford to lose any more brain cells," he mused in a drunken voice. Suddenly becoming serious, Sheppard prised his eyes open and searched Beckett's features. "What's wrong with him?" he entreated. "I know there's something you're not telling me, so you might as well spit it out," he implored, and a hint of anxiety showed in his pale, tired face.

Beckett bit his lower lip before answering. "I don't want to worry you, Colonel. So, when you've had a little sleep, we'll talk about Rodney. All right?" he asked cheerfully, hoping his face didn't betray his own worry about the physicist.

"No," Sheppard replied succinctly, despite his drugged stupor. "Not going to sleep till you tell me. I'm not completely witless, you know." John grimaced. "God, I sound like Rodney," he whined breathlessly.

Teyla and Carson both laughed at Sheppard's observation.

"Seriously. Sleep. We'll talk later. Physically Rodney's healing well. His injuries weren't life threatening at any time. He's just a wee bit upset at the moment, that's all," Beckett explained, not feeling in the slightest bit guilty for being economical with the truth.

As exhaustion tugged at Sheppard, he wearily looked up at Beckett.

"'Kay," he answered drowsily, before finally succumbing to sleep.

Beckett looked at Teyla. "It's going to be difficult to keep Rodney's breakdown a secret from him," he observed, "but as much as I want to help Rodney, I have to consider the colonel's health. He's as weak as a new-born lamb right now, and burdening him with stress simply isn't conducive to him healing," he lamented.

Teyla sighed. "I agree. John will worry even more about Rodney if he knows the full extent of his condition," she said. "However, when Rodney does not visit him, John will become suspicious. As he himself said, he is not 'completely witless'," Her warm, velvety laugh filled the infirmary again.

"Aye, you're not wrong there, lass. The colonel's far more intelligent than he likes to let on," Carson agreed. "We're going to have to tread very carefully here. Though I'm worried about Rodney's mental state, the colonel's condition is still serious, and he can't afford any more setbacks," he warned.

"The situation is most worrying. How is Rodney?" she asked in concern.

Beckett exhaled. "He woke up about six hours ago in a dreadful state, demanding to be discharged again. He wasn't violent this time, but very distressed. Kate and I agreed to medicate him for the foreseeable future. At least until we can talk to the colonel and find out exactly what happened," he explained. "That's presuming Colonel Sheppard is willing or even able to discuss what transpired during their incarceration."

Beckett yawned tiredly and stretched his back.

"Carson, have you had any rest?" Teyla asked in concern.

Beckett smiled warmly at the Athosian. "Aye. Here and there, love," he answered honestly. "I'm used to burning the candle at both ends – comes with the territory," he joked.

Teyla raised her eyebrows in confusion. "I do not understand why burning a candle is relevant here," she stated in surprise.

"It's an Earth expression. It means working and playing hard," Carson patiently explained. "In my case, it means that I'm used to stressful, long hours with little respite."

Teyla nodded her head. "I understand. Still, you must take care of yourself," she warned Carson.

"Aye. I'll catch up on some sleep when I've got Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum sorted out," he quipped. On seeing Teyla's confused expression again, he shook his head, and laughed. "Never mind, lass," he said, as he busied himself checking Sheppard's various tubes and IV's, before smiling affectionately at the sleeping man in the bed to the side of him.

"What am I going to do with you and Rodney?" Carson asked John. "Sometimes I think you were both sent here to test my mettle," he muttered to himself absent-mindedly, as he walked away to check on the physicist, before catching up on some much needed rest.

-oOo-

John distantly felt a tugging sensation on his neck, and blearily opened his eyes to slits, to see Beckett standing over him. Consciousness had returned more readily this time, and Sheppard inwardly sighed when he took stock of his body, and realised his pain was still at a manageable throb. His head still felt foggy, and he recognised the familiar floating sensation of the morphine he'd been given, as it flowed steadily through his veins.

"Hold still Colonel," Beckett's soft brogue ordered gently, "I'm just removing this nasty IV here. I'm nearly done, lad," he assured John.

Sheppard snorted. "I'm not a baby, Doc. As much as I hate IV's, I know they're for my own good," he answered testily.

"Sorry, Colonel. I sometimes forget you're not Rodney," he chuckled.

"I'm not sure whether that's a compliment or an insult," Sheppard replied in amusement.

Carson smiled warmly. "There. All done. I've put a suture in, so don't go touching it," he warned.

Sheppard looked affronted. "Since when do I pick at sutures?" he demanded light-heartedly.

Beckett snorted. "As I remember, since the last time you were in here, Colonel," he said, as he raised his eyebrows.

"Good point," Sheppard conceded. "Okay. I won't touch. Scout's honour," he said, grinning warmly.

"From what I've heard from Rodney, I doubt you were ever a Boy Scout," Carson retorted.

John smiled his lop-sided grin, and shrugged his shoulders, immediately regretting the action as tendrils of pain snaked through his body.

"Crap!" he whined miserably. "Guess that wasn't a sensible thing to do," he admitted sheepishly, as he caught his breath.

Carson shook his head, and laughed. "I'd guess not. Try not to move too much for the moment, because, believe me, you'll be asking for more pain meds if you do," he warned. "Let's have a chat about your injuries. You feel up to that?" Beckett questioned the colonel carefully.

"Why not. What's the damage this time?" Sheppard asked casually.

Beckett let out a huff of breath, and grimaced as he began to reel off the list of injuries Sheppard had suffered.

John lay in bed wincing, as the impact of Carson's words hit him. Surgery for internal bleeding caused by injuries to his ribs and side, a bruised kidney, various knife wounds, burns and bruising, not forgetting his injured fingers. Lastly, the gunshot wound to his thigh, which was going to be a long time healing, and would require extensive physical therapy.

"Nice," John commented. "You sure you haven't missed anything else?" he joked, not expecting Carson to add anything more.

Carson's face darkened. "You nearly bled out, and then suffered a blood clot in one of the blood vessels leading to your lungs. We nearly lost you," he began gravely. "Don't worry, we got it sorted, and there's been no damage to your lungs. However – you will need to be on blood-thinning medication for the next six weeks or so, but with the PT on your leg, that's not going to hold you back from being on Active Duty anyway," Beckett concluded.

"Great," Sheppard sighed. "Is my leg going to get back to 100 again?" he questioned Carson. Apprehension showed on John's face, but he realisedhe needed to know where he stood.

Carson chewed on his bottom lip. "With a lot of hard work on your part – I don't see why not. Though it's going to be a long haul, probably several months, I'd guess," he answered honestly.

"Okay," John answered slowly, being careful not to let his concern at the news show on his face. "You going to tell me what's going on with McKay?" he asked. "I'm feeling much better now, and I won't 'pass out', as McKay so euphemistically puts it."

Beckett pinched the bridge of his nose. "Simply – he's suffered some sort of mental breakdown," he stated matter-of-factly.

Sheppard lay silently, assimilating Beckett's words.

"How bad?" John asked in a quiet, concerned voice.

"Bad. He handed in his resignation, saying he wants to go back to Earth, then became violent and irrational, and tried to leave the infirmary. Gave Ronon a nasty black eye in the process." Carson dropped the bombshell carefully, and unemotionally.

John looked up at Carson's face.

"Can't say I'm surprised, Doc," he admitted. "He went through hell," he continued, his voice almost a whisper, "and he's not trained to take that sort of mental and physical abuse," John added sadly.

Beckett put a hand on John's shoulder and squeezed gently.

"You've _both_ been through hell, Colonel. Yes, you've been trained to deal with it, but that doesn't mean it's affected you any less. You just don't show it, lad," he warned Sheppard.

Sheppard smiled briefly, and shook his head carefully.

"Nah. I'm good," he assured the doctor.

"I sincerely doubt that," he reproached. "I need your help, and I know it's not going to be easy," he began, regret showing in his voice and features.

Sheppard interrupted Beckett's words.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, though John already knew deep down what Carson needed of him.

Beckett exhaled. "Can you tell me exactly what happened to you both on the planet?" he asked gently. "I know it's going to be painful for you, and we can stop at any time, if you feel it's getting too much," he assured John, "but – it would really help Kate and me in knowing how to press forward with treatment for Rodney," he explained.

John looked away from Carson, and bit his lower lip. He turned his head back to face the doctor and nodded, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead.

"Okay. Where do you want me to start?" he whispered, a slight, almost inaudible quiver present in his small, lost voice.

Carson considered John's question.

"The beginning's always a good place to begin, son," he replied knowingly.

Beckett sat and listened to the shocking events that his two friends had been forced to endure. Throughout John's recounting of his memories from his and Rodney's time with the Torellian's, Carson said nothing, just nodding or jottting down notes on a pad of paper. Every so often, Sheppard paused, and cleared his throat, as the emotional turmoil took its toll on him. Half an hour later, and John had finished. He lay silently, eyes screwed shut, as he fought to control himself. The pain from his abused body had returned mid-way through his recitation, and together with the emotional stress he was feeling, he desperately craved another dose of Beckett's magic pain reliever, but was too proud to ask for the potent cocktail.

Sheppard's prayers were answered as he felt the familiar tug of the IV line on his arm, and momentarily felt cool liquid travelling up his arm, and into his body. Without opening his eyes, he sighed, and quietly whispered his thanks to Beckett.

"You're welcome, lad. Get some sleep. We'll talk later," he said, as he checked Sheppard's monitors, before quietly leaving the colonel's bedside.

-oOo-

As he returned to his office, Beckett found Heightmeyer sitting by his desk, obviously waiting to talk to him.

"Carson?" the psychologist began, "how's Colonel Sheppard?"

Beckett flopped in his chair and put his elbows on the desk, before lowering his head into his hands, and then sat upright, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Christ, Kate. I've just spent half an hour with the colonel, while he told me exactly what happened to Rodney him and on the planet. Poor lad," he sighed, "it's a miracle he's not needing sedating too. Yet, all he can say is he's fine, and that Rodney went through so much."

Kate smiled grimly.

"Colonel Sheppard internalises everything. We already knew that, Carson. That's his coping mechanism. Short-term it appears to work for him, but I'm concerned about him filing this away in an empty part of his mind," she warned. "It's simply not healthy, especially when you consider what else is already stored there. Sooner or later, he's going to have to face his demons."

Beckett frowned.

"They're both going to have to," Beckett commented. "I just hope the damage isn't irreversible – for either of them," he added sadly.

Tbc.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

_This is quite emotional, so I hope you enjoy it, and don't think it's a little bit over the top. Thanks for all the reviews. Thanks also to Kodiak for her terrific beta skills._

Half an hour later, Carson and Kate were still sitting together, agonising over the best way to move forward with Rodney's treatment.

"At least we know for sure what's wrong with Rodney, what has caused his breakdown." Carson took a sip of his coffee, and put the steaming mug back down on his desk. "Colonel Sheppard has helped us here quite a bit. I think I can safely say that Rodney was scared to death on that planet. The Torellian's used Colonel Sheppard to weaken him, and he now feels he's let everyone down – especially the colonel." He frowned, and shook his head in consternation. "Unfortunately, Rodney's mind has associated the colonel with his own pain, suffering and weakness. It's as if the colonel has become the irrational and displaced focus of all Rodney's suffering."

"That sounds logical," Kate agreed. "Rodney is a complicated man, yet he's basically a good person. But, the only way his brilliant mind can cope with this situation is to run away – sort of a flight rather than fight instinct." Kate cupped her own coffee mug in her hands, relishing the warmth it provided. "He's also focused all his feelings of hurt and his self-perceived humiliation on Colonel Sheppard. The poor colonel has become a scapegoat, I'm afraid."

Carson exhaled. "What can we do?"

"We wait till the colonel is a little better, then we take Rodney to see him – make him face the colonel?" Kate suggested. "It could be disastrous for both of them, so we'll need to monitor them closely," she advised. "I believe it's the best way forward."

"I agree. I just hope we're doing the right thing," Beckett said apprehensively

Kate shrugged. "Carson, I don't want to keep Rodney sedated for much longer, yet he won't talk. We'll give it a try and see how it goes. We're just going to have to play it by ear, I'm afraid," she said honestly.

"I'm worried about the colonel, though," Beckett began. "He's good at masking his feelings, and I don't know what sort of reaction he's going to have if Rodney becomes abusive towards him." Concern marked Carson's features. "Normally, the colonel would tell him to piss off, in no uncertain terms, but he's physically compromised, and emotionally traumatised himself, whether he shows it or not."

Heightmeyer exhaled, frustrated at the quandary of healing both men. "It's a challenging situation. I suggest that both of us are present when they talk, that way we can intervene immediately should we need to," Kate suggested.

"Okay," Beckett agreed. "All being well, we'll try this tomorrow morning when the colonel's had a good sleep - and if I think he's up to it. I know he'll do anything he can to help Rodney, but he tends to ignore his own health, and that worries me a bit," he reiterated.

Kate nodded. "Agreed. We'll be careful," she assured the doctor.

-oOo-

Rodney woke to cotton wool in his mouth. Instantly, he knew he'd been drugged, and from the fatigue he felt, he knew it must have been for a prolonged period.

"Good morning," a cheerful voice greeted him as he opened weary eyes. "And how are we feeling today?" McKay recognised Carson's voice.

"You've kept me drugged, you miserable Scottish bastard, how do you think I feel?" he answered aggressively.

Carson sighed. "No need to be rude," he answered crossly. Calming himself, Beckett smiled at the physicist. "Melissa's bringing you some breakfast – eat that and you'll feel much better," he promised.

McKay snorted. "Of course. Give me food and everything will go away. How naïve of you," he replied condescendingly.

Ignoring Rodney, Carson continued to address the physicist. "When you've eaten, you can have a shower, then I want you to do something for me. If you comply, and I'm satisfied, you can leave the infirmary," he informed Rodney.

"About damn time," McKay grumbled. Taking in Carson's other words, Rodney did a double take. "Okay. I admit, I'm not quite on the ball here," he began. "What do you want me to do?" he questioned suspiciously.

Carson started to walk away. Turning back, he grinned. "Eat your breakfast, take your shower, and I'll tell you."

-oOo-

After he'd eaten his breakfast and showered, Rodney had to admit he felt a little better. Though the irrational need to flee Atlantis hadn't diminished, he inwardly conceded that he didn't feel quite so angry as he had when he was last awake.

"Well," McKay began as Carson walked towards his bed, "what exactly do you want me to do for you?"

Beckett's face remained impassive as he answered. "I want you to come and visit Colonel Sheppard," he replied matter-of-factly. "Kate's talking to him now. But – and I mean this…I don't want you to upset him." Carson gave a look of warning. "He's still very weak, but he really needs to see you in the flesh. He doesn't believe you're okay. He thinks we're lying to him," Carson lied. Kate and the doctor had decided to try and persuade Rodney to visit the colonel by dangling the freedom carrot in front of his nose, but also by exploiting McKay's inherent protectiveness towards his friend.

"I don't want to see him," he answered firmly. "It's not that I'm not sympathetic to how he's feeling," he said, faltering, "but – I really don't think I've got anything to say to him."

Carson nodded. "Fine. You can stay here then." There was no compromise in his stern voice. "Though I would have thought visiting a sick, injured friend is a small price to pay to get out of dodge, as the colonel so delicately puts it," he challenged.

McKay considered his options. "Whatever," he answered nonchalantly. "I'll see him. Say good riddance and get the hell away from here."

"Good." Carson smiled warmly. "Remember what I've said. Colonel Sheppard is still sick, but once he's seen you, I'm sure he'll be reassured."

McKay trailed behind Carson as he headed towards the screened part of the infirmary.

On approaching Sheppard's bed, Rodney faltered. Turning to see where the physicist was, Beckett took McKay's arm and frog-marched him forward.

McKay noticed Kate sitting on the far side of the colonel's bed, chatting quietly with him.

Looking up, Sheppard saw McKay edge his way nervously forward.

"Hey," Sheppard began. "I was beginning to think something was seriously wrong with you." His smile faltered as he took in his friend's harrowed appearance. "I'm glad you're okay, Rodney," he whispered, his voice tight as he struggled to contain his emotions.

McKay sat next to the bed, and stared at Sheppard coldly.

"Well, I'm fine, as you can see, and you're obviously on the road to recovery," his ice- cold voice stated. "So, now you've seen me, I'm off," he said in a monotone voice.

Sheppard's face registered surprise at McKay's words.

"Hey, don't go yet. I thought maybe we could talk for a while?" he asked hopefully.

Rodney exhaled, and Sheppard noticed the irritation in his friend's body language.

"I don't want to be rude, but I really don't have anything to say to you that could benefit you or me in any way, so it's probably best to quit while we're ahead and are being civil to each other," he replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

Sheppard recoiled at Rodney's words, but quickly recovered himself, remembering Kate's earlier words to him, as she explained what she wanted Sheppard to say, and that he should act as he normally would.

"I'm used to you being rude to me. In fact, I'd be worried if you weren't," he joked, aiming to lighten the heavy atmosphere in the room.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?" Rodney shook his head in disgust. "You have to make a joke out of everything and then charm yourself out of the situations you get yourself in to." He scowled at John. "I tried to stay calm, just to let you see me, but no, you have to push all my buttons don't you?" he continued, his voice raising in pitch as he began to lose his former icy control. "I'm leaving here, Colonel. I've come to say goodbye. I need to go before I lose my temper, all right?"

Sheppard's face showed the hurt caused by McKay's words.

"Why are you leaving?" he asked sadly. "I mean, I know we've been through hell, especially you, what I suffered was insignificant in comparison, I know, but let's talk about this. I'm sure we can get through this – together," he entreated.

McKay stood and turned to look at Carson. "I tried, I really tried," he began, and turning to face Sheppard, he sneered at the prone man. "I don't want to 'get through' this with you. I want to put this behind me and never think about it again," he explained. "That's the problem though, isn't it? Every time I see your face -" McKay stopped talking and angrily jabbed his index finger at Sheppard. "I'm reminded of everything I went through. I can't stand the way you make me feel about myself. I know it's not your fault, and that makes me feel even worse," he conceded angrily.

"Look, I know you've been to hell and back, but as I explained in the cell, what they did to you was the worst kind of torture," Sheppard began. "I understand, really. As I've been there myself. Believe me, nobody else understands – nobody. I can help you. You have to trust me, though," Sheppard pleaded, as he put everything he had into his words.

McKay snorted. "I trust you – I just don't trust myself. I'm likely to end up hitting you."

"So – hit me. I can take it," Sheppard answered stoically.

Carson stepped forward.

"I don't think so, Colonel," he said sternly. "There'll be no violence in my infirmary. Rodney, it's time to go, I think."

Sheppard's face immediately registered frustration and annoyance. "No! I'm fine." Beads of sweat started to form on John's head. "Rodney, if it helps to hit me, then do it. Do whatever it takes. If you walk away from this, you'll be haunted for the rest of your life, and believe me, you don't want that," he warned.

"You have to be so fucking brave, don't you?" Rodney uncharacteristically cursed.

Sheppard flinched again on hearing the scientist's swearing.

"I'm not brave! I just understand what you're going through, as the same thing happened to me. You hate me, right?" John asked outright.

It was McKay's turn to recoil.

"W-what?" he stuttered.

"I said you hate me," he repeated. "Don't look so surprised. I don't take it personally. Everybody comes to hate me in the end, Rodney, so I'm used to it," he said quietly.

Carson eyed Kate in concern. The psychologist shook her head, by way of telling Carson to stay passive.

McKay snorted. "Here we go. Colonel Self-sacrifice strikes again! 'Do what you want to me, I'm not important,'" he said in a mocking tone. "As if anyone hates you! Everybody loves Colonel Courageous, for God's sake."

"What the hell do you know?" Sheppard shouted back, as he lifted himself painfully onto his elbows and off his pillows.

Carson shook his head as he noticed the lines of pain on John's face, and the sweat, which was starting to drip from his forehead.

"Calm down, Colonel. Just take it easy," he soothed.

Ignoring the doctor, Sheppard glared angrily at McKay.

"You have no idea what other people think of me," he snarled. "Believe me, before I came here I pissed off so many people, that I didn't have a single friend. So don't pretend you know anything about me." John paused to take a breath, and tried to slow his breathing, which had become rugged and strained. "Don't let hate eat you up, Rodney. Accept what's happened and get on with your life here. None of it was your fault. It wasn't mine either, okay?" Sheppard's breaths came in shallow pants, and he collapsed back into his pillows, desperately trying to calm down.

McKay started to pace in the confined space around Sheppard's bed.

"I can't move on. I feel pain every time I look at you. I see your face and hear your screams. I don't really hate you, but if I stay here I will. You make me feel so useless and pathetic," he declared.

Sheppard held out his splinted hand in a gesture of comfort, straining as he balanced on one elbow.

"I'm sorry," he said shakily.

Rodney shook his head and laughed. "Here you go again. You're sorry." He stopped by the head of Sheppard's bed and looked down at the weakened man, who had collapsed back down in his pillows. "It should be me that's sorry! Whatever you say just makes me feel worse." McKay wrung his hands together, as nervous energy radiated from him. "You've made me feel guilty, just like you've made me feel weak."

Sheppard's breath hitched as he tried to speak again.

"I'm sorry, so sorry. This isn't your fault, I know it isn't. Please don't leave," he begged McKay. "If you leave Cyclops will have won, and I'll have lost my friend. I'm not sure I can take that," he ground out, as he bit his lower lip, frantically trying to not breakdown.

Kate chose that moment to intercede.

"Okay, I think that's enough for now," she said calmly. "We've aired a lot of grievances here, and that's very positive." Kate stood and turned to face McKay. "Rodney, you can return to your quarters if Carson agrees, though I think it'd be best to stay here," she advised. "You're going to feel weak and spent after this, and I think you'd benefit from Carson's care."

McKay snorted. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll leave," he stated icily.

John shook his head, and tried to sit up again, finally raising himself on his elbows again. "Look, don't go. You need to listen to me, then, if you feel no differently – leave. But, just hear me out, okay?" Sheppard pleaded.

"Colonel, I really don't think…" Heightmeyer began.

Sheppard interrupted Kate.

"Rodney, listen to me. I know how you feel because I came to hate someone who was part of my team, someone I cared about, and it nearly ruined my life. I'd hate for that to happen to you," John explained. "I was captured with one of my crew, just a kid who was barely out of the academy in Afghanistan a few years back. I was supposed to protect him," Sheppard began. "The bastards who captured us tried to make me talk, and threatened to shoot him. He was twenty-two years old, for Christ's sake. They executed him in front of me, shot him in the head - and to this day I see his face in my nightmares." His voice startedbreaking upas pent-up emotion was released.

"By the time I was rescued, I hated Andy. Every time I shut my eyes I saw his pleading eyes, begging me to save him. I hated myself for surviving – hated myself for not saving him, but, I couldn't give in, I couldn't give the bastards the information they wanted. In the end I hated myself more than I could ever hate him – he was innocent, for God's sake. I still hate myself now…" John stopped and screwed his eyes shut as he finally lost control. "Don't let this do to you what's it's done to me," he whispered, as a tear slid down his cheek. "Forgive yourself, and learn from the experience. You'll probably never get over this – but you'll learn to live with it."

John took a shuddering breath, and fell back into his pillows again, and groaned as he felt a wave of nausea hit him.

Carson noticed Sheppard's pallid complexion immediately, and reached out for an emesis basin that was situated nearby, as he raised the head of John's bed.

"Doc, I think I'm going to be sick…" he ground out, as he felt acid at the back of his throat.

Carson thrust the basin under John's chin, and supported him, just as he started retching, bringing up bile.

"It's all right, lad," Carson soothed. Turning to Kate, he said, "Can you go and tell Melissa to bring me the next dose of the colonel's pain meds I've written up for him… and ask her to bring a standard dose of Compazine?"

Kate nodded and rushed off to find the nurse.

When John had finally stopped heaving, he closed his eyes and whimpered as his sutures and wounds throbbed in renewed agony as Carson gently lowered him back down.

"God, that hurt," he whispered shakily.

As soon as Melissa arrived, Beckett administered the drugs through John's IV port.

"There we go, Colonel. You'll start to feel better in a few seconds," Carson said gently.

"Thanks," he whispered almost inaudibly. Sheppard's eyes were screwed shut, but those in the screened off part of the infirmary could see the tracks of tears on his pained and pale face. As he went to shakily dry his face, John yelped as he hit himself with a splinted hand.

"Ow!" he moaned feebly.

Rodney stepped forward, and taking a tissue from the side of Sheppard's bed, wiped John's tear-stained face.

"God, you're a mess," he complained. Sitting down in the chair next to John's bed, he reached out and squeezed Sheppard's arm gently, avoiding IV lines and wounds.

"Just get some sleep, and I'll sit with you, okay?" he soothed, his anger gone, and his compassion present in full force.

John smiled drowsily.

"'Kay," he slurred as the drugs started to do their work.

Carson and Kate walked outside and simultaneously exhaled.

"That wasn't what I expected to happen," Kate exclaimed.

Beckett chuckled. "Me neither. I think your idea worked though," he said approvingly.

"Let's hope," the psychologist replied. "Of course, I knew about Colonel Sheppard's past record, but as far as I know he's never discussed this with anybody. This may have been cathartic for him too," she suggested.

"Aye, I hope so. Poor lad. I think they've both taken the first steps towards recovery," Carson said hopefully.

Kate nodded. "I agree, though they've still got a long way to go," she warned.

"Aye, I know. We'll all be here for them though. We won't let them down," Carson pledged, as he and Kate walked away, leaving Rodney to watch over John.

Tbc.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13.

_Thanks for the encouraging reviews! A big thank you to my beta, Kodiak for her wonderful and steadfast support!_

Carson returned to the curtained off part of the infirmary over an hour later to find Rodney asleep, head resting on the side of Sheppard's bed. Smiling to himself, he quickly checked the readings on John's monitors, and checked John's temperature. Frowning as the thermometer registered 38.4 degrees, he quickly walked to the drugs dispensary and filled a syringe with a clear liquid.

Returning to Sheppard's bed, he awkwardly shuffled past Rodney, knocking the scientist as he shimmied past him.

"Mnn. Carson? What are you doing?" the sleepy man asked, as he stretched stiff muscles.

Carson swiftly injected the contents of the syringe into John's remaining IV port.

"The colonel has a wee bit of a fever. I'm giving him a little something to help bring it down," he explained, frowning as he scrutinised McKay. "I think you should get some rest now, you've got several hours before lunch."

McKay chewed on his lower lip, his pale features showing concern.

"How high is his temperature? Does he have an infection? Are you starting him on antibiotics?" The questions rolled from McKay's lips without the physicist pausing for breath. "He's doing it again, isn't he? Just when I let my guard down, he gets sick again. I can't take any more of this. Is he trying to torture me some more?"

McKay stopped and his breath hitched as he comprehended his own words.

"Oh God, why did I say that?"

Beckett put a reassuring hand on Rodney's shoulder.

"Rodney, life goes on. You can't just erase what happened to you both, or not talk about it." Carson moved past McKay and pulled up a chair next to him.

Rodney turned to look at John, who lay quietly, his face pale, except for the bruise across his jaw where Cyclops had struck him. Sheppard's forehead was dotted with small beads of perspiration, and Rodney grimaced as he noticed two small patches of pink underneath the colonel's eyes; flushed cheeks courtesy of the fever.

"He looks so vulnerable. I've never seen him this helpless before. Even when he's been injured and at death's door, he's always seemed strong, but when he broke down earlier, I saw real hurt in his eyes. Not physical – but emotional hurt."

McKay turned to look at Carson.

"I still can't look at him without feeling resentment." Rodney fidgeted in his chair uncomfortably. "I hear his screams every time I see his face. Is it ever going to stop?" he asked Beckett desperately.

Carson grimaced, his weary face softening as he exhaled. "I don't know, though I'm told these things fade with time. You've started on the road to recovery, but it's going to be a long old trek, I'm afraid."

McKay smiled briefly, before an angry expression crossed his face.

"You played us both, didn't you?" he questioned Carson, as the doctor's deception suddenly dawned on him. "Sheppard never thought you were lying to him. You just wanted me to face him, knowing I couldn't help but be swayed by the pathetic state he's in." McKay snorted. "You persuaded him to talk to me, hoping he'd open up. Congratulations, you're a better psychologist than I gave you credit for."

Carson flinched.

"I didn't know what else to do, though it was Kate's idea. I'm surprised you worked it out though." Carson's hands fiddled with the lapel of his lab coat.

"Hello? Genius here. As if I wouldn't see through your devious plan. I still want to leave, you know." Rodney looked back at John. "He'd never understand though, would he? He'd never forgive me. It really hurts to look at him like this, and I really want to run away…" Rodney shook his head in disbelief. "Why did this have to happen?"

Beckett tutted, and reached out to squeeze Rodney's arm in a gesture of comfort.

"There is no why, Rodney. Sometimes terrible things happen to us. We just have to accept that and do our best to get through what life throws at us." Carson stood and checked Sheppard's monitors again.

McKay immediately jerked in concern.

"What's wrong now?"

Carson grimaced.

"His heart rate's a little elevated, nothing out of the ordinary considering the situation. I've got everything covered here, as far as I can. He's already on antibiotics, so I doubt anything's seriously wrong." Looking back at the terrified scientist, Carson smiled, hoping to reassure Rodney. "You can't expect Colonel Sheppard to bounce back from this. He's going to have setbacks, though hopefully only minor ones. Honestly, his elevated temperature and pulse aren't a surprise, when you consider all the blood transfusions he's had and his physical condition. I'll watch him closely."

Rodney's shoulders slumped.

"I'm not sure I have the strength to sit and watch this," he whispered, his voice laden with doubt.

Carson sat down again, and creased his brow in concern.

"Look at him, Rodney." Carson watched as McKay shifted his gaze to the colonel's broken body. "He's going to need your help. You're the only one here to have gone through this. You understand what happened. You know what he's like. He's going to be helpless for weeks to come. He won't be able to feed himself, wash himself. He won't even be able to get to the bathroom. Do you know what that's going to do to him?" Carson exhaled and shook his head. "He's going to feel useless and helpless and incredibly frustrated. Unlike you, he hates being fussed over. I'm really concerned about him, and as much as I sympathise with you, you're the stronger one here. Don't let him down."

McKay sat motionless as Carson's words sank in.

"I still want to leave Atlantis. I want to go back to my apartment, and pet my cat. I miss my cat so much. She's never hurt me, only ever wanted food and companionship. We had the sort of relationship I'm good at – low maintenance." McKay smiled wistfully, before his face fell, and a pained expression lingered on his tired features. " I don't want to watch Sheppard struggle his way back to fitness, I don't want to see him frustrated and suffering. Does that make me a bad person?"

Carson chuckled softly, then looked Rodney in the eye, and held his gaze.

"No. That makes you human. Do you think I'm comfortable seeing the colonel like this? It's heartbreaking. But – I can't afford to let my personal feelings get in the way. It's hard, but I've spent years learning to disassociate myself from the situations I've found myself in." Carson stood, and started to walk away. Turning, he looked back at McKay. "You've not had my training, or the colonel's. Don't be so hard on yourself. If you need to get away, go to the Mainland for a few days to think things over, don't leave here on impulse – you may live to regret it." Carson then continued to walk, leaving Rodney at Sheppard's bedside.

-oOo-

The next day passed in a haze for John. He felt hot and disoriented, sweaty and confused. Every time he prised his eyes open, a member of his team was there. The first time he'd moaned his way into consciousness, it was Elizabeth's face he saw hovering over him. She'd told him he'd got an infection in one of his more minor wounds, nothing too serious and nothing the antibiotics weren't taking care of, but - he was going to feel a little sick for a few days. He'd nodded in understanding, and drifted back into a fitful slumber.

His second sojourn into what vaguely resembled lucidity was less pleasant. That time John had woken to waves of nausea crashing into him, overwhelming him. Teyla was the unlucky visitor that time. He'd managed to croak a pathetic 'sick', and the Athosian had sprung to action, grabbing a bowl and supporting the feverish colonel as he'd hissed and groaned his meagre stomach contents into the dish. He'd whispered an apology to the beautiful woman, who had gently wiped his mouth, and stroked his forehead, whilst telling him not to worry and to feel better soon. John had sighed and inwardly decided that he rather liked Teyla stroking his fevered brow.

John also vaguely remembered Ronon standing by the privacy screens, pacing up and down. He hadn't said anything to him, but knowing he was there, guarding him, had somehow been comforting.

John remembered those hazy images as he returned to consciousness a fourth time.

He woke to Rodney tapping on a laptop by his bed.

"Hey" he whispered, pleased to find himself not feeling so hot and foggy-headed, though he recognised the warm, fuzzy feeling of morphine as it numbed his pain. McKay looked up from his laptop, and John inwardly winced as he spied the dark circles under his friend's eyes. "You look like hell," he rasped, as a tickle in his throat caused him to cough.

McKay immediately reached for a glass with a straw in it, and raising Sheppard's bed by forty-five degrees, proceeded to place the straw between the colonel's dry lips.

"Carson said you can have a few sips. No more, though, as I don't want you to deliver it back to me, thank you very much."

John took a few grateful sips of the cool liquid, and closed his eyes as the water slipped down his dry throat. Opening them again as Rodney withdrew the glass, John smiled. "You okay? You do look like hell, you know."

Rodney snorted. "Yes, and you look like Adonis. I would ask you if you've looked in the mirror recently, but I know you haven't so…suffice it to say, as unbelievable as it sounds, you look far worse than me."

John chuckled carefully, but was relieved when he felt only a dull throbbing from his injuries. "How long have I been out?" he asked, having no idea how long he'd been not exactly compos mentis.

McKay closed his laptop, set it down on the floor, and looked at his watch. "About thirty hours. How are you feeling now? Carson just gave you some pain meds, so you should be feeling reasonably doped up at the moment."

Sheppard exhaled. "Oh yeah. I feel doped. Listen," Sheppard began. Momentarily lost for words, John bit his lower lip, and reaching a decision, released his lower lip, and looked directly at Rodney's face. "This isn't easy for me, so just listen. Okay?"

McKay's face betrayed his discomfort at what he suspected Sheppard was going to say, but he nodded in agreement.

"I've never told anyone about Andy before. Well, other than the shrinks who tried to pry information from me." Sheppard laughed, and diverted his eyes away from Rodney, settling them on a spot of the privacy curtain behind the physicist. "I told you about him for a reason - I know how you're feeling. You have no idea how difficult it was for me to talk about him, though me puking my guts up right after probably gave you a clue." John exhaled, and steeled himself, knowing he had to get this over and done with before he could move on himself.

"Andy's death nearly ruined my life. When I finally got back on active duty I struggled to do my job – I was so angry and hurt. My CO didn't understand, after all, I'd done my duty – and that was all that mattered as far as he was concerned. I wanted to save everybody, and it nearly cost me my career. I went back to retrieve some men who were trapped behind enemy lines and disobeyed a direct order." Sheppard laughed. "You should have seen my CO's face when I flew in with the guys and a pretty banged up helicopter. All he could think about was the damn helicopter."

Sheppard shook his head. Then looking at Rodney, grimaced. "I haven't changed since then. I'll never leave a man behind, no matter the cost. That's what Andy's death did to me. What I'm trying to say, and not very well, is that what happened to you will change you, but you have the power to make something positive come out of it. You survived, and you helped me to survive. You have to hold on to that." Sheppard searched Rodney's features for a hint of understanding. "I don't regret my inability to abandon my men. It's got me into all sorts of trouble, and though I regret his death and my part in it, I'm glad I changed. I have Andy to thank for that. "

Sheppard closed his eyes, and tried to slow down his rapid breathing.

McKay shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"I know what you're saying. I'm just not sure I'm the person you think I am. I'm not strong like you. What happened in that cell showed me that I'm a coward, a useless, pathetic excuse for a man." Rodney lowered his head into his shaking hands.

Sheppard reached out with his splinted hand, and gently touched McKay's arm.

"That's not true! You took care of me, and were very stoic about your injuries. Well, stoic for you," he joked. "They used you, Rodney. Exploited your humanity. You shouldn't think less of yourself because of that. They would have used me, only they figured pretty quickly that I didn't have any humanity to be exploited."

Rodney lifted his head from his hands.

"Now who's not telling the truth? I know you did everything you could to save me – you always do. I don't have the courage you do, and I'm so sorry I nearly gave in. So sorry…" Rodney sobbed it quietly, finally losing his ability to hold it together.

Sheppard gulped, swallowed and blinked away his own tears.

"Hey," he muttered gruffly. "It's ok. Just let it out. You'll feel better if you do, believe me." He patted Rodney's arm, despite the pain he felt from his fingers.

McKay lowered his head onto Sheppard's bed, and sat quietly, his quivering shoulders the only thing that showed he was crying. John continued to awkwardly pat Rodney's arm, as the scientist drifted off to sleep.

Tbc.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14.

_I apologise for the delay in posting this chapter. It took me a while to write, but for the last three days this site hasn't let me upload anything! This chapter was written at the request of my beta, Kodiak, who really wanted Sheppard to go through some sort of problem with his pain meds, and this is what I came up with. So, Kodiak, this is for you. Thanks for beta-ing sweetie!_

It was some hours later that Carson returned to lead Rodney to his bed. Sheppard had drifted off to sleep himself, and woke up to find Carson gently guiding the physicist to a bed next to his own. When McKay was settled, Carson returned to John's bedside, and checked the colonel's monitors and IV lines.

"How's your pain? You're due some pain relief, but I don't want to give you more unless it's absolutely necessary. You've been drugged to the eyeballs recently, and I'd like to start cutting back a bit." Carson studied John's features carefully, and frowned as he noticed the creases of pain and beads of sweat on the colonel's forehead.

Sheppard attempted a grin.

"I'm good."

Beckett exhaled in frustration.

"All right, let's do this the hard way. On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, what level is your pain currently at?"

John thought carefully.

"Seven," he answered honestly.

Carson tutted, and immediately reached into his pocket, pulling out a syringe. Uncapping the needle, he injected the contents into Sheppard's nearest IV port.

John looked at Carson in shock.

"I thought we were cutting down. I didn't need any right now," he moaned.

Beckett patted John's arm.

"I know you. You have an extremely high pain threshold. If you're at seven, you're hurting bad, Lad. I won't stand by and let you suffer. We can try and cut back when you're feeling a wee bit better."

John struggled to keep his eyes open as the drug coursed through his exhausted body.

"Don't like being doped up, Doc."

Carson sighed.

"I know you don't. Get some sleep," he soothed.

-oOo-

The next day Rodney woke up feeling a lot better than he knew he should. Either his long sleep had done him a world of good, or his little venting session with Sheppard had actually been cathartic. Stretching, then wincing at the pull on his ribs, he gingerly got out of bed. Moving towards Sheppard, he was surprised to find the colonel fitfully sleeping, and Rodney didn't miss the lines of pain evident in the restless man's features.

Leaving to search for Carson, Rodney halted as he heard Sheppard's soft voice calling his name.

"Colonel. I didn't mean to wake you. Are you okay?" the physicist asked in concern, as he noticed John's pale, sweaty features.

Sheppard tried to smile.

"Yeah. Just trying to last longer between pain med shots. I've seen too many people get hooked on painkillers. I've been pretty doped up for nearly a week now. So, I'm sort of going cold turkey for a while."

McKay swallowed nervously.

"You can't possibly be addicted so soon. I'll get Carson to give you something…"

"No. I don't want any – really. Don't tell Carson. I'm tired of feeling spaced out. I need to get up and moving, or my leg is going to take even longer to get back into shape." John softly moaned as a wave of pain from his leg and chest ploughed into him. "I'm not addicted yet, Rodney, but we need to seriously cut back, and it's going to hurt for a while." Seeing McKay's panicked face, he mustered a smile. "I'm good. Been through this before."

Rodney exhaled.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

John closed his eyes.

"No. I'll be fine. I'll just try and get some sleep. I'm glad you're looking better. If you need to talk, you know where I am," he said through clenched teeth.

McKay settled himself in the chair by John's bed.

"I know. If you don't mind I'll sit here for a while, it's sort of comforting in a perverse way."

"Knock yourself out," John muttered sleepily, as he desperately tried to take his mind off his escalating pain.

-oOo-

Half an hour later, Rodney watched sadly as John restlessly tossed his head from side to side on his pillow. McKay knew Sheppard was in pain, and trying to manage without the comforting presence of Carson's strong narcotics. Knowing that John was stoically trying to wean himself off the painkillers didn't make the situation any more tolerable for Rodney to witness.

Quietly leaving Sheppard's bedside, McKay walked purposefully towards Carson's office. Entering without knocking, he did a double take as he found Beckett asleep in his chair; the doctor's head resting on his desk. Rodney knew that the last week had been hell for Carson, but he also knew Sheppard needed help.

"Carson?" Rodney whispered, as he gently shook the sleeping man's shoulder.

Beckett groaned, but settled back into sleep.

McKay huffed.

"Carson!" he spoke a little more forcefully, and was rewarded with a very sleepy looking Beckett sitting stiffly up and stretching his arms to ease cramped muscles.

Seeing McKay standing in front of him, he squinted, then looked at the watch on his wrist.

"Rodney? What's wrong?" he instinctively asked.

McKay grimaced.

"Sheppard, who else?"

Carson stood and walked towards the door.

"My staff haven't woken me, Rodney, so there can't be anything seriously wrong…"

McKay forcefully pulled the doctor's arm, and led him briskly to the colonel's bed.

"Look at him," McKay ordered.

Carson massaged the back of his neck with his hand. Looking down at the colonel's fitful sleeping, he looked at the monitors and exhaled.

"How long has he been like this, and why the hell didn't anybody inform me about it?" he asked incredulously.

McKay smiled, with regret evident in his features.

"About thirty minutes. He's trying to go without his pain meds. He asked me not to tell you, and I'm guessing he pretended to be okay in front of your nurses. It's not their fault." Rodney uncharacteristically defended the staff on duty.

Carson walked to the bottom of Sheppard's bed and eyed McKay.

"I wasn't suggesting it was." Carson retrieved John's medical file from a holder at the bottom of the bed, and retrieved the colonel's drug chart. Sighing, he shut it, and returned it to its former position. "He should have had his meds at eight this morning, but refused them, and is written up to have a top up at twelve. It's eleven thirty now. He had nothing all night. So it's at least sixteen hours he's been unmedicated for. He can be so bloody stupid sometimes…and I've been sleeping while this was going on…"

Carson strode away, and returned a few seconds later with a syringe, which he quickly injected into Sheppard's IV.

Almost instantly, John settled down, and his face slackened as his pain eased.

"He didn't want to get hooked, Carson." Rodney fiddled with the hem of his untucked shirt. "I had no idea he was in that much pain, he hid it so well to start with. Is he going to be okay?"

Carson studied Sheppard's monitors.

"Yes, but this is a bit of a problem. He can be so…"

"Irritating, annoying, frustrating, pig-headed…" McKay grinned as he spewed forth his litany of Sheppard's flaws.

Beckett coughed. "I get the picture, Rodney," he laughed.

Rodney's face suddenly became serious.

"What can we do to help him?"

Carson smiled at Rodney's use of the word 'we'.

"_We _cut back his meds gradually, the sensible way. He'll still be in a lot of pain, but he won't be thrown in the deep end with it." Carson exhaled in annoyance, as he carded his hair. "The bloody fool has been on morphine for a week, and then decides he doesn't need it. He must've been in agony. I could throttle him sometimes…"

McKay snorted. "You're not the only one. I think he feels pretty helpless right now. Maybe him deciding to get off your pain reliever mix by himself made him feel as though he had some control over this mess?"

Beckett's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "Rodney? I do believe you've earned your psychology badge." The doctor patted the grinning scientist on the arm. "You're probably right there. I'll have a chat with him when he wakes up." Pulling McKay by the arm, he pointed to the door. "Food. Go and eat – now. Then come back and I'll check your ribs."

McKay started to walk away, but turned back to look at the sleeping colonel.

"When this happened, I mean after - when we were back here, safe…all I could think about was how strong he'd been, and how weak he'd made me look. I was right, of course – he is strong. But, he's human too, despite what he'd have us believe." Rodney paused, and massaged his temples. "He's a mess, isn't he? Just like me. He just hides it well." Carson grimaced by way of answering. "Seeing him like this – understanding that all his machismo is just a front makes me feel better. That makes me sound even more pathetic – as impossible as that is to believe."

Beckett shook his head angrily. "No. You're stronger than you think, Rodney. What happened to you both was enough to break anybody. You both survived, and you'll both get through this. You lost it for a while – and who could blame you? But, you're getting through this." Carson looked across at John, and Rodney saw the sadness in the doctor's eyes. "You're going to have to be strong for him, you know. Tomorrow we're going to get him on his feet, and it's not going to be pretty. I'm also going to start him on some light food, and though he doesn't object to the nurses giving him sips of water, he's going to be very unhappy about being fed. I thought I'd get Teyla to try – she won't take any nonsense from him."

Rodney grinned. "No she won't. Don't worry, I'll make sure I'm around to help him. After all, you've banned me from the lab, my laptop and, oh, just about everything to do with work, so…it's not as if I have anything else to do."

"Aye. Now go and eat before you pass out from manly hunger…" Beckett teased.

McKay scowled, as he walked away. "Yes, very amusing, Carson."

-oOo-

"Carson? I came to visit John, but he's out like a light. How is he?" Elizabeth walked towards Beckett, as he sat in the corner of the infirmary writing up notes.

The doctor grimaced.

"Let's get a cup of coffee and have a chat," he suggested as he held out his arm, gesturing for Weir to walk in front of him.

Minutes later the two were sitting in Carson's office, holding steaming mugs of coffee in their hands.

"What's wrong?" Elizabeth asked nervously. As a diplomat, she recognised the old 'let's have a coffee and chat' routine for what it was.

"Colonel Sheppard decided he didn't need any pain relievers, and got himself in a bit of a mess…" Putting down his drink, Carson held up his hand to placate the obviously concerned Weir. "He's fine, but that's why he's sleeping so soundly. He probably hadn't slept all night, and when I gave him his meds, he just passed out – literally."

Elizabeth shook her head in confusion. "Why would he do that?" she asked.

Carson frowned, and sipped from his steaming mug.

"Lots of reasons, but mainly because he's worried about becoming addicted to morphine. As a pilot, in the sort of situations he's been in – well, he's seen a fair amount of it."

Weir put down her mug on the desk, and looked at Carson with an anxious face.

"Is he?" She needed to know the answer to that.

Carson smiled reassuringly. "No, not yet. We do need to cut down, but gradually. What he did to himself wasn't very sensible, to put it mildly. I should have been more careful, and watched out for this. It's just the sort of thing he'd do…"

"It's not your fault, Carson. He's going to be okay, isn't he?" Weir interrupted.

Carson nodded as he sipped more of his coffee. "Mmm. I'll just have to be more vigilant."

Weir's shoulders relaxed a little as she comprehended Carson's words. "How's Rodney?"

"Doing remarkably well, actually. He's realised a few things that have put his own problems in perspective. He's still got a long way to go, but I'm feeling pretty pleased with his progress." Carson brightly reported.

Weir's eyes met Beckett's. "And John. Other than this problem with his medication?"

Carson features tensed. "He's got a long way to go. I'm getting him up tomorrow, and starting him on food, so he's not going to be a happy bunny, I'm afraid. Mentally, I'm not so worried about his recovery from his torture, more about his ability, or lack thereof, to accept help. He's a very independent person, and though he's normally a pretty good patient, I have a feeling he's not going to be very co-operative with a few things over the next few days – especially being fed."

Elizabeth winced. "Ouch! He's not going to enjoy that. Perhaps I can help?"

Beckett raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"I was going to ask Teyla, but if you feel you can persuade him to take food from you, be my guest."

Weir shrugged.

"I used to feed my one-year old nephew a fair amount. I don't think John could possibly be worse than that," she laughed.

Carson's eyes widened, and he cocked his head slightly.

"What? You think I won't succeed?" she challenged the doctor.

"I didn't say anything…" Carson replied innocently. "Okay, you're on. I'm planning on giving him some Athosian broth at lunch time tomorrow, after he's been on his feet, so he'll probably be exhausted, anyway."

Weir picked up her coffee mug and stood.

"I'll keep you informed, before you ask," Carson added, pre-empting Elizabeth's question.

Weir smiled warmly.

"Thanks, Carson."

-oOo-

John had no idea what time it was when he next woke up, but he was only too aware of the fuzzy and familiar feeling of the painkilling drugs he'd obviously received without his knowledge. Groggily looking around the infirmary, Sheppard soon spied Carson as he approached his bed.

"Why?" was all John could grind out.

Carson pulled up a chair and sat to the side of Sheppard.

"Why did I give you your medication?" John nodded angrily. "Because you were a mess, Son. How could you be so bloody stupid? You must know you can't just withdraw powerful drugs like that?"

A look of resignation showed in John's features.

"I know. I'm sorry. I just wanted to feel normal again. I'm tired of feeling loopy. I honestly didn't think it would hurt that much," he replied in a subdued voice.

Carson's face remained impassive.

"Don't do that again. I know what you were trying to achieve, but you've set yourself back a little now."

John glanced away, and bit his lip.

"I'm sorry," he repeated almost inaudibly, as he battled to control his emotions.

Beckett reached over and gently squeezed John's arm, making sure not to touch his wounds.

"You've no need to apologise, Colonel. I just don't enjoy seeing my patients suffer unnecessarily."

John's gaze remained fixed on a spot behind Carson.

"I just want to get better, and get up and around. I also thought I could manage with out the drugs. Guess I was wrong." John shrugged, and winced as his shoulders complained. "I don't want to become addicted, Doc, and I'm scared I am already," he confessed.

"I know lad, but you're not, honestly. I'll cut down the dosage incrementally. I don't want you to become addicted either. You must know I wouldn't let that happen."

John grimaced as he realised he'd inadvertently questioned Carson's ability as a doctor.

"No, I know you wouldn't purposely, but I've seen it too many times, Doc. Promise me you'll cut back?"

Carson bit his lip.

"Aye. You have my word."

John smiled tiredly.

"Thanks."

Carson squeezed John's arm again.

"Get some sleep, and before you ask, Rodney's doing really well and I'll watch him carefully while you sleep."

"I know you will," John replied drowsily as his eyes closed.

Rodney approached John's bed just as he fell asleep. Looking anxiously at Beckett, he shifted his gaze to the unconscious colonel.

"How is he?"

Carson huffed.

"Exhausted and feeling pretty concerned." Beckett smiled at McKay. "Don't fret, he'll get through this. From his next dose of meds, I'm cutting the amount by one third, though I may need to give him a full dose after we get him up tomorrow. He'll be in a fair amount of pain, I'm afraid."

Rodney sat down carefully in the chair next to Sheppard's bed.

"I know. He'll be okay. We'll make sure he is." Rodney yawned, and winced as his ribs burned.

"I want you to go back to your quarters and get some sleep, Rodney. We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and you've got an appointment with Kate at two-thirty. Off you go!" Carson dragged Rodney carefully up from his chair, and shoved him gently away.

"You will wake me up if he needs me, won't you?" McKay asked.

Carson frowned. "He won't. He'll sleep like a baby for quite a while yet. Go, before I sedate you!"

"Okay. Jeez, you and your drugs. Never give them to me when I want them, and threaten me with them when I don't." McKay whined as he headed off.

Beckett smiled at the complaining physicist, as he checked on John one more time.

"Have a good sleep, Colonel. Tomorrow is not going to be a good day for you," he sighed, as he headed off to catch up on his never-ending paperwork.

Tbc.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15 

_This chapter is for Titan5, she'll know why! Thanks to Kodiak, as ever, for her wonderful beta support!_

John woke up the next morning feeling groggy, but more coherent. Looking around, he spied Carson approaching. Slowly and carefully, he inched up the bed on his elbows.

"Good morning, Colonel. How are you feeling today?"

John thought about the doctor's question.

"I'm good. Ready to get on my feet," he answered enthusiastically.

Beckett frowned.

"I know. First, let's get that catheter out, and then we need to get you washed and in some scrubs. Melissa's on her way now."

John looked at Carson warily.

"I think I can manage to wash and dress myself, Doc," he answered a little testily.

Beckett exhaled, knowing that he was going to have an uphill battle with his patient.

"Really? How do you intend to get around the fact that both your hands are in splints?"

Sheppard instantly looked down at his injured hands and bit his lip.

"I'll manage," he said resolutely.

"Colonel. I know it's difficult for you to admit you need help, and I understand – really, but you're going to need it. Your splints won't be off for some weeks, so you'd best learn to accept assistance gracefully, and surprise us pleasantly, for a change," Carson responded in a stern, yet understanding voice.

John turned his head away.

"I can manage," he reiterated quietly.

Carson walked round the other side of Sheppard's bed and stood in front of John, so he had eye contact with his troublesome friend.

"Do you want to get out of bed today?" he asked pointedly.

"You know I do," was the instant reply.

Carson's voice became uncharacteristically sharp.

"Then you'll let my staff do their job and wash and dress you. You're physically incapable of doing that right now, so just deal with it, Colonel. Nobody enjoys being helpless, with the obvious exception of Rodney, but that's the way it is." Carson smiled grimly at John. "Look, I know how you're feeling, but please make my life easier and let us do this. You'll be better soon enough, and then you can do everything for yourself. Okay?"

John's face registered his discomfort at Carson's words, but he wasn't stupid, and he realised he was going to need help in taking care of his physical needs. Chewing his bottom lip, he nodded his head.

"Fine," he answered reluctantly.

Carson reached out and gently patted John's arm.

"Good Lad. Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Let's get that nasty catheter out."

Sheppard gave the doctor a withering look, and winced.

After snapping on surgical gloves, Beckett swiftly and carefully removed the tubing, while John bit his lip and swallowed.

"There we go. That wasn't so bad was it?" Carson said brightly.

"Not for you," John replied matter-of-factly.

Beckett gave John a searching look, but decided not to respond to the colonel's last remark. On seeing Melissa approach, Carson smiled, as he removed his gloves.

"Be good, Colonel. As soon as Melissa's finished, we'll see about getting you up. Don't expect too much, though. We'll just be getting you on your feet and lying you straight back down again."

Carson drew the screens around Sheppard's bed as he left. Beckett one, Sheppard nil, he thought to himself.

-oOo-

Being washed by a nurse was something John had endured before, but only when he was so out of it, he really didn't care. This time was different. Melissa was a great nurse and a lovely person, Sheppard knew, but the humiliation he felt as she gently removed his gown and sponged him was torturous.

When she'd finally dressed him in scrubs, for which he was eternally thankful, he managed to thank her gruffly, before turning his head away in embarrassment.

"All done, Colonel," the nurse informed John in a cheerful voice. "Would you like some water?"

John looked uncomfortable.

"No thanks. Er, I need to go to the bathroom. Doc just took out my catheter and my bladder is suddenly full."

Melissa smiled in understanding. "I'll bring you a bottle straight away."

"Can't I go to the bathroom?" John uncharacteristically whined.

The nurse's face betrayed her unhappiness at hearing her patient's discomfort.

"Colonel, I'm not allowed to get you up, you know that. I'm sorry…" she began to explain.

John's face became angry.

"I can't even hold a damn bottle. Are you going to do that for me too? Jesus, am I a baby again? Because I damn well feel like one."

Hearing the commotion, Beckett entered through a gap in the privacy screens.

"What's going on?" he asked, as he approached the bed.

Melissa blushed, and cleared her throat.

"Nothing, Doctor Beckett. I was just going to get the colonel a bottle, as he needs to go to the bathroom. We were merely discussing how we're going to manage the situation. It's all sorted out now, isn't it Colonel?" she asked pointedly.

John looked down at his hands.

"Yes," he mumbled, as his face flushed.

Beckett looked from Sheppard to Melissa.

"Right. I'll leave you to it, then," he answered suspiciously, knowing that something had transpired between the two.

After John had relieved himself, he looked up at Melissa.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

The nurse's face fell.

"No need to apologise. I'd feel exactly the same in your position. It won't be for long, remember that."

John nodded his head, but couldn't hide the hurt and humiliation in his features.

-oOo-

Ten minutes later, John shook himself out of his depression as he saw Carson, Rodney and Ronon approach his bed.

"Hey. You guys here to watch the show?" he asked lightly.

"No. We're here to help, Sheppard," Ronon gruffly replied.

Sheppard's face showed his displeasure and pride.

Rodney noticed John's obvious discomfort at the situation and interceded.

"You can stop sulking, right now. Despite the fact that you're all skin and bone, you're actually quite heavy, and Carson wants to save his nurses' backs. So – suck it up," the physicist joked; though nobody present could miss the seriousness in Rodney's voice.

Carson moved next to John's bed.

"I know you're not happy about this, but you're likely to be pretty wobbly, and if you pass out, which is pretty likely, I'd rather have Ronon here to catch you, if you don't mind."

John nodded, resigned to the total humiliation he was enduring, and figuring it really couldn't get much worse.

"Good Lad. Right, let's get started," Carson ordered.

The three men stood next to the bed, Rodney standing slightly out of the way.

John moaned softly as Carson raised the head of his bed. His ribs complained at being at an almost upright angle, his head swimming as he tried to focus around him. He panted to try and quell the nausea rising up from his oesophagus.

"Just breathe slowly, Colonel. We'll let you get your bearings before we continue, okay?"

John heard Carson's soothing tone through the ringing in his ears. He'd had no idea sitting up would be this unpleasant, and understood why Beckett wanted Ronon there.

If sitting up made him feel like this, John knew standing up was going to be pretty nasty.

"Are you all right, Colonel?" This time it was Rodney's voice John heard filtering through his dazed and unhappy head.

John couldn't muster up enough strength to answer.

"Okay, Colonel. Let's lay you back down. I think that's enough for today…"

"No… just give me… a minute," came John's weak, yet resolute reply.

Opening his eyes slowly, John gulped as bile hit the back of his throat. Swallowing quickly, he breathed as deeply as he was able to.

"Okay. We'll take it slowly. I don't want you to help, just relax and breathe evenly."

John nodded in understanding, but couldn't stop a cry of pain leaving his lips as he felt his sheet removed from his lower body, and his legs being carefully moved round, so they dangled limply over the side of the bed. His left leg screamed at the movement, and it took all John's willpower not to throw up there and then.

Before he had a chance to say anything, John felt himself being gently held under his armpits and moved forward. As he felt strong hands lift him, he tried to lock his knees as his feet found purchase on the cold infirmary floor. John's left leg felt as though daggers were pressing deep into muscle, and his shoulders and ribs wailed in complaint. He found himself panting to try and counter the effects of the agony he was experiencing.

Mustering every last bit of strength, John forced his knees to stay firm and not give, though it took every ounce of determination he had. Trying to open his eyes, John rapidly closed them as vertigo hit, and all he could make out was Rodney's anxious face swimming around in front of him. As nausea rose again, he felt beads of cold sweat form on his forehead, and he groaned as he felt his knees finally buckle.

"Need…lie…down…sick," John managed to grind out.

Through an echoing tunnel, John heard Carson telling Ronon to lay him back down.

"You've done really well, Colonel. Just try and breathe through this. That's it,"

Sheppard heard Carson's voice again, but couldn't stop himself from gagging. John was aware of something being pushed roughly under his chin, and he inwardly screamed as his stomach muscles spasmed, and he threw up its meagre contents. John's ribs burned, and he started to feel light-headed, his breathing laboured.

"Get his legs up, Rodney. I'll hold him until he's finished vomiting."

John managed a groan as his stomach finally ceased its paroxysms, and let out a feeble whimper as the pain in his leg and ribs crescendoed to an intolerable level.

Keeping his eyes screwed firmly shut, and breathing in painful, shallow rasps, John's head swam even as he felt the head of his bed being lowered. He managed to protest as he felt an oxygen mask pressed firmly over his face, and moaned again when his splinted hand banged against it.

"It's all right, Colonel. Just breathe for me. I'll give you something for the pain in a minute," John heard Carson soothe.

"No…I'm…good," he managed to stutter, hoping Beckett understood that he didn't want any more drugs.

"What did he say?" Rodney's voice boomed through the air.

"Said he doesn't want any drugs," Ronon's gruff voice informed the anxious physicist.

Even in his weakened and confused state, John knew what was coming.

"For God's sake, give him something, Carson," Rodney yelled desperately.

John had to admit that he was relieved as he felt the tug on his IV line, knowing that he'd be put out of his misery shortly. As the cool numbness began to take effect, John wondered why he'd been so keen to get out of bed. Figuring he'd obviously suffered some sort of brain damage that had exterminated all his sensible brain cells, he sighed quietly, as he headed towards the sweet darkness beckoning to him.

-oOo-

"Well, that went well." Rodney's sarcastic voice echoed around the quiet infirmary.

Carson shrugged.

"Actually that did." McKay's face looked as if somebody had goosed him. "Get that look off your face, Rodney," Beckett admonished. "The colonel did extremely well. I'm amazed he didn't pass out. He's a brave lad," Carson said appreciatively.

"He threw up and looked as if he was going to die at any minute!" Rodney's face betrayed his anger and concern at what had happened to his friend.

Beckett gently touched McKay's arm.

"He's been critically ill for a week. What did you expect? He's also in agonising pain and being weaned off powerful drugs, of course he's not going to go skipping around, proclaiming the joys of spring!"

Rodney's face fell.

"No, of course not. Sorry," he apologised. "I just…didn't expect him to look so – vulnerable and weak. Sorry…I…it's just…it hurts to see him like that, okay?"

Ronon grunted.

"Yeah. It's not nice, but I've seen worse. He's strong. He'll be fine, McKay. He just needs a bit of time. Won't be easy for him to accept what's going on though. A warrior never likes to be helpless," he growled matter-of-factly.

Carson nodded in agreement.

"Aye. He wasn't too happy earlier on. Gave my nurse a bit of bother when he needed to be washed and go to the bathroom, not that I blame him. It's not nice when you can't even pee by yourself."

McKay's face smiled wickedly.

"Well, that must've been a first!"

Beckett's eyebrows rose in confusion.

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, it must be the first time Colonel Casanova's objected to a pretty woman holding his –"

"Rodney!" Carson's irate voice interrupted the physicist's quip.

McKay shrugged innocently.

"What? It was just an observation."

"Not a very productive one," Carson complained.

McKay snickered.

"I don't know, it _could_ have been productive…"

Beckett and Ronon exchanged querying looks.

Ronon was the first to laugh. His deep, mellow laugh echoing around the room. The other two men present in the room swiftly followed suit.

"Rodney, sometimes you say the most inappropriate things at the most appropriate times," Carson laughed.

When the three had calmed down, their eyes were simultaneously drawn to the sleeping man in the bed next to them.

"He going to be all right now?" Ronon asked gruffly.

Beckett fussed with Sheppard's IV line.

"Aye. Tomorrow will be easier. Of course we have to get through this afternoon first," he muttered worriedly.

"What's happening this afternoon?" Rodney asked anxiously.

Carson grimaced.

"Elizabeth's coming to feed Colonel Sheppard his lunch."

Rodney shrugged.

"What is it with him? He gets food, and an attractive woman to feed it to him. I really don't see his problem."

"You wouldn't. Suffice it to say, I'm wearing a hard hat at around one o' clock," the doctor joked.

-oOo-

John had woken up at midday feeling exhausted and miserable. He'd had no idea that standing up would take such a terrible toll on his body. He knew Beckett had given him morphine, but he also knew from the pain that he was experiencing that Carson had honoured their agreement, and that it was a reduced dose. Even though the pain was barely tolerable, John was grateful, and glad not to be doped up again.

In the half hour he'd been awake, Carson and Rodney had visited, praising John for doing so well. When he'd said he didn't think throwing up and nearly passing out was that much of an achievement, Carson had tutted and given John a lecture on stupid Colonel's expecting too much of themselves. John had had to admit that Beckett's diatribe had caught him off guard, and he'd felt suitably chastised, before drifting off into a light sleep, as the morning's events caught up with him again.

As he lay dozing, he heard somebody approach his bed. Opening his eyes, John smiled sleepily as Elizabeth came into view, carrying a tray with a bowl on it.

"Afternoon sleepyhead," Weir teased affectionately. "You up for some Athosian broth?"

John eyed the bowl of soup suspiciously.

"Did Teyla make it?"

Elizabeth's face showed her surprise at John's question.

"No. Chef did. Why?"

John grinned cheekily.

"That's a relief. I don't think it'd stay down if she had." Seeing the surprise on Weir's face, he laughed softly. "Have you ever tasted Teyla's cooking?"

Elizabeth smiled, but she frowned at John in a way that reminded him of a teacher reprimanding a naughty pupil.

"No," she answered in a slightly amused voice.

Sheppard exhaled before looking round the infirmary.

"Lucky you."

Weir chuckled.

"I wouldn't want to be in your shoes if Teyla finds out you insulted her culinary abilities," she warned light-heartedly.

"Me neither," John agreed.

Elizabeth pulled a table above John's bed, and placed a napkin on his chest. Dipping a spoon into the broth, she carefully ran the underside of the spoon against the rim of the bowl to clean the drips of soup away. She then cupped her spare hand under the spoon and carefully moved it towards John's mouth.

Watching Weir's actions, a look of annoyance and shock came over John's face.

"What are you doing?" he asked in a high-pitched voice, which almost squeaked.

Elizabeth shrugged nonchalantly.

"Feeding you."

John shook his head vehemently.

"I don't think so," he replied testily.

Elizabeth smiled determinedly.

"Oh, I do."

Sheppard scowled, but underneath humiliation lingered.

"I'm not a baby, Elizabeth. Just give me the spoon and I'll do it."

Weir smiled placatingly.

"Okay. Here you go," she answered brightly.

As John tried to take the spoon, his splinted hand knocked the utensil from Weir's fingers, sending soup flying over the bed covers.

"Damn," he cursed, as he struggled to retrieve the spoon, failing miserably as his clumsy, painful hands groped uselessly around.

Biting back a moan of pain, John turned his head away, and bit his lip, determined not to lose his temper or break down in front of Elizabeth.

"Hey. It's good you tried. Just let me do it. I'd like to," Weir entreated, her eyes seeking Sheppard's, a pleading expression showing in her features.

Elizabeth saw the torment on John's face, and knew there was anger and frustration there too.

"Christ! First I can't dress myself, then I can't pee alone. Now I have to be fed like a baby. I'm an adult, for God's sake!" Sheppard yelled.

Weir's face became stern.

"From where I'm sitting you're worse than my little nephew. Don't make me do choo-choo trains, John," she begged in a mocking voice.

John looked at Elizabeth and the edges of his mouth curled up slightly.

"Choo-choo trains. You're kidding, right?"

Elizabeth retrieved the spoon, dipped it in the broth and made train noises as the spoon approached John's mouth. As he laughed, she took advantage and gently pushed the spoon into Sheppard's mouth.

John's eyes bulged, and he swallowed automatically.

"That was low!" he whined.

"I have a bet with Carson that I'd succeed." Elizabeth eyed John seriously. "I don't like to lose bets, John. So eat up."

Sheppard chuckled.

"Okay. You win. I'd never want to be the reason the leader of Atalntis lost a bet with her Chief Medical Officer. Can we lose the train noises though? I've always preferred aeroplanes…"

Carson shook his head as he watched Elizabeth feeding Sheppard from afar.

"There goes my Scotch," he tutted, as he walked away; a large grin plastered on his tired face.

Tbc.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16.

_Thanks for the reviews. Kristeen asked if Sheppard could have some sort of breakdown – so, here you go! Don't worry, there'll be tears in the next chapter. Thanks to Kodiak for all her wonderful support and beta skills._

"Good morning, Colonel. How are you feeling?"

John opened his eyes and inwardly groaned as he saw Kate Heightmeyer standing by his bed.

"Honestly? Tired," he answered bluntly.

Heightmeyer winced sympathetically.

"That's not surprising. I know you're due to have some physical therapy in a little while, so, Carson thought now might be a good time for me to talk to you."

John closed his eyes in both irritation and anxiety. The last few days had been pretty rough. Though standing was easier now, the pain wasn't. Beckett had dutifully cut back on the pain relief, and John was now down to half doses. That made him feel less loopy, but invariably left him in considerably more pain. Sheppard's ribs were a constant reminder of his torture. Every breath hurt, and moving felt like someone was twisting a knife in his chest. John's back and arms and various bruises were healing, though they pulled, itched and throbbed in varying degrees.

All of those were insignificant compared to the intense pain present in John's left leg. Standing on it had been so painful, he'd almost passed out. Putting his full weight on it had been hell. Walking on it had been sheer unadulterated agony. To make matters worse, John couldn't use crutches, because of his injured hands, so he'd had to rely on Ronon and various members of Carson's medical team to support him.

Having to accept help from so many people had hit John especially hard. The pain had been almost unbearable at times, but he'd suffered before and knew it would pass. The indignity and lack of privacy he wasn't so sure about. Having Elizabeth and Teyla feed him, though he'd outwardly put on a brave face, was humiliating. Having to rely on nurses to help him pee made his stomach churn every time he thought about it. Using the bedpan was even worse. How much lower can you sink, than when you can't wipe your own ass? John had asked himself too many times. And just to make his life complete, Heightmeyer had shown up to discuss his 'feelings'. Great. What a wonderful start to what was obviously going to be another shitty day.

"Colonel?"

John opened his eyes, knowing he had to face the music.

"Sorry. My mind was elsewhere," he replied honestly.

Kate pulled up a chair, opened her laptop, and looked across at Sheppard.

"Do you want to tell me what you were thinking about?" she asked casually.

John bit his lip.

"You want to know?" Kate nodded her head. "I was thinking my life couldn't get much worse than not being able to wipe my ass myself…and then you showed up," he answered testily.

Kate snorted and smiled warmly, her professional hat suddenly on.

"So, talking to me is worse than not being able to wipe your own backside?"

John had the decency to look embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. That was rude of me," he stuttered by way of an apology.

Heightmeyer nodded.

"Yes, it was. But, I won't take it personally. You understandably feel helpless and vulnerable right now, and frustrated too, I'd imagine," she sympathised.

John laughed ironically.

"That's an understatement." Sheppard exhaled and looked Kate in the eye. "Ok, let's get this over and done with. You want to know how I'm feeling? Okay. I feel like crap. Everything hurts and more some. I feel useless, impotent and pathetic. I can live with being tortured, I can even live with seeing my friend tortured. I can't live with being as pathetic and messed up as I am now. Satisfied?"

John closed his eyes as pain from his ribs stabbed ruthlessly away at him. His breaths came in shallow pants after his emotional outburst.

"Just try and calm down a little, Colonel. We can talk about this and work something out together. A way for you to cope with your extended recovery. All right?" Kate soothed.

Sheppard opened his eyes, and shook his head.

"No. It's not 'all right'!" He mimicked Kate's voice in a patronising tone. "There's nothing you can say or do that's going to make this go away. If Rodney were here, he'd tell me to suck it up, then look guiltily away, as he scrambled to get away from me. I know he's trying to help me, but every time he looks at me - he remembers." John put a shaky, splinted hand to his face, and winced as he knocked his eye. "How do you think it makes me feel to know that my best friend can't look at me without feeling a mixture of pity and revulsion?"

Kate looked sternly at John

"That's not true, Colonel. Rodney has a lot of issues of his own to deal with, but he doesn't feel that way about you – not any more."

John ignored the psychologist.

"If Elizabeth were here, she'd pat my arm and tell me to get better, that she needs me, that I've done good. Teyla? She'd be compassionate and supportive, telling me she understands how I feel, but that I have the strength to get through this. Ronon? He'd tell me I'm a survivor. He'd say he wouldn't want to be in my shoes, but he knows I'm going to be fine."

John took in a painful, shaky breath.

"And Carson? He's already told me he's sorry for me, but that I've got to get on with it, as 'what else is there to be done?' So, you see, though everybody feels sorry for me – pities me even, and everybody 'understands' how I'm feeling, as I'm 'so independent', and hate to be 'vulnerable' – it doesn't make me feel any _fucking_ better…" John uncharacteristically swore. "You know what? I've had enough of this."

Sheppard grimaced as he tossed back the bed covers, and went to get out of bed. He unceremoniously yanked out the remaining IV from his right arm, and held a finger over the bloody hole left behind.

"Colonel? Lie back down. You know you can't walk unaided yet. You'll just injure yourself more. I know you're hurting, but let's sit back down and talk about everything. It'll help, I promise," Kate began.

John groaned as he tentatively lowered his feet to the floor.

"I don't want to talk. I want to go back to my quarters and get through this by myself – in private. I don't want or need anybody's help. If I stay here, I think I'll probably be needing a straight jacket pretty soon, and if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not. So – if you'll excuse me…" he began as he put his weight on his legs.

Kate immediately stood and put a steadying arm towards John.

Shrugging Heightmeyer's hand away, Sheppard limped painfully and unsteadily off, wobbling and breathing in shallow pants, as he weaved away from his bed.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing, Colonel?"

John looked over to see a very irate Carson approaching.

"What the 'hell' does it look like?" he answered in an equally as irate voice.

Carson hooked his arm under John's armpit.

"It looks to me like you're trying to escape, and I can tell you unequivocally, that that's not going to happen. Let's get you back in bed, Lad."

"No!" John shrugged Carson's hand away, wincing as his abused body complained.

"I'm going back to my quarters, even if I have to crawl there. I really don't think I can stay here anymore," he ground out shakily.

Beckett exhaled, and went to steady the weaving colonel.

"Colonel, listen to me. You're going to fall in a minute, and if you do, you'll injure your leg even more. Do you want to spend even longer in physical therapy?"

John edged further away from the doctor.

"I need to get out of here. I want to be alone, to look after myself – to have some privacy and retain what little dignity I have left. Please…let me go…" John flinched as he heard his own begging words.

Carson chewed his lip, considering how to handle his difficult, but obviously tightly wound patient. Looking at Kate, he gestured for her to leave, hoping she would get help.

"No. I'm sorry, Colonel. You're not mentally fit to discharge yourself, so get back in bed. Don't make me sedate you – please." Carson could beg too, if necessary.

As Sheppard edged further away, Carson noticed John's pallid complexion, and the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He also heard John's rasping breaths, and knew his patient wasn't going to be upright for very much longer.

"I'll tell you what. Let's get you back into bed, and we can find a way to make you feel as though you have more privacy. Maybe we can come to an accommodation here?" Carson asked hopefully.

John knew the doctor was buying time, and figured reinforcements were probably on the way.

"No, I'm leaving. Let go of me before I make you," he threatened.

Carson snorted.

"Right now, you've not even got the strength of a wee lamb, Colonel. Back to bed – now, and we'll sort this out," he promised.

John started to edge away, managing to keep Carson's arm from latching onto him. The energy required to perform that simple feat left John seeing stars, and he began to feel dizzy and faint. Knowing he wasn't going to be on his feet for much longer, he continued to shuffle backwards away from the doctor, every step causing bile to rise in the back of his throat, as his leg sent fiery spasms of agony through his body.

"What the hell are you doing, Sheppard?"

John turned as he heard Rodney's irate voice behind him. The dizziness he felt suddenly overwhelmed him, and as he put out a splinted hand to try and grab something to support himself, John found nothing but thin air.

As he crumpled to the cold, hard floor, all John could do was mumble a surprised 'crap' as he fell heavily on his outstretched arm. He furiously tried to protect his injured leg, and he inwardly groaned as he heard the crunch of bones. John was aware of voices around him, shouting fervently, and groaned as he felt himself being turned carefully onto his back. Opening heavy, exhausted eyes, he spied Carson's blurred, but worried face looming over him.

"Colonel? That's it. Open your eyes for me. Good Lad."

John moaned as he felt new pain throb mercilessly in his left arm.

"Think I've… broken my arm," he managed to grind out.

John bit back a moan as he felt Carson gently examine his injured limb.

"I'd say that's a good bet. As if you haven't got enough wrong with you already," Carson tutted. "Rodney? Can you help me get the colonel back in bed?"

Rodney stepped forward, and he and Carson slowly and carefully sat John up, being careful of the colonel's newly injured arm.

Seeing John's obvious dizziness and nausea at sitting up, Carson scooted behind his patient and took John's full weight against his chest.

"Just get your bearings, Colonel. We won't move you till your dizziness passes."

John managed to nod, and desperately tried to quell his nausea by breathing shallowly. After a few minutes, he really thought he couldn't feel much worse, but when Carson and McKay tried to moved him again, John just slumped against them bonelessly, realising he'd been sorely mistaken – he could feel worse, and he did.

"All right, Colonel. Let's lay you back down," Carson soothed, before turning to one of his nurses, who had recently arrived to assist the two men. "Melissa, can you run and get a gurney? We're not going to be able to get the colonel on his feet at the moment. Thanks, love."

McKay looked nervously at Beckett.

"Is he all right? He doesn't look so good."

Carson exhaled, and shook his head.

"No, he's not bloody well all right, Rodney. Colonel Sheppard had a bit of an – episode, and because I wasn't quick enough to catch him, has probably broken his arm. He's pretty distressed and in a fair amount of pain at the moment."

Carson was interrupted by the arrival of the nurse and the gurney. John was carefully lifted on to it, and deposited safely back in bed.

"Colonel? I'm going to have to examine you, and send you off to x-ray in a minute. Can you tell me what hurts?" Beckett questioned the prone man.

Sheppard struggled to open his eyes, and groaned as the infirmary swam before his eyes.

"Everything," he answered drowsily.

"Maybe that'll teach you not to get out of bed when you should know better."

Carson started to examine John, and winced when he saw the deformity that was obvious in the colonel's left forearm. "Let's see what damage you've done this time," he muttered to himself, as he continued his examination of his most difficult patient.

-oOo-

Three hours later, and John was soundly tucked in bed, his left arm in a cast, which now encompassed his previously splinted fingers. A new IV was securely fastened in a different part of his right arm, and his left leg was raised on a pillow.

Rodney had sat by Sheppard's bed, typing away at his newly returned laptop for over an hour. Every few minutes, he'd lifted his head to watch the sleeping man, and on seeing John's pale features slack in sleep, had lowered his head back down, and continued to tap away at the computer's keyboard.

"Rodney?" Elizabeth calling him startled McKay, and he closed his laptop and placed in on the floor. "How is he?"

McKay looked across at his friend.

"Out like a light. Carson had to give him a larger dose of his meds, as he was in a lot of pain," he explained.

Weir shook her head, and let out a huff of air.

"I suppose this was inevitable," she sighed sadly. "He'd been taking this too well, hadn't he?"

Rodney looked down at his hands.

"I don't think he was ever taking this all that well, Elizabeth. He just hides it better than most people would."

Elizabeth approached John's bed, and gently lifted a damp strand of hair from the unconscious man's forehead.

"Carson said he's got a nasty break in his arm, and that he banged his leg up a little. This is going to set him back again, isn't it?" she asked sadly.

"Probably. Though fortunately it was his left arm, and not his right. Funnily enough, I can't blame him for wanting to escape here. I know I did when I was first brought here after…well, you know…" Rodney faltered.

Elizabeth smiled compassionately.

"After you were both tortured?" she questioned McKay gently.

"Yes. Sheppard's always been slower than I have. So it was inevitable he'd follow me, and try to make his escape. Didn't think it'd take him a week to catch up with me, but he's been pretty sick, hasn't he?" Rodney looked up at Elizabeth, who had turned to face the physicist. "I don't know how to help him. I kind of enjoy being fussed over, and don't tell Carson that, but the colonel? He can't stand it. The torture he can live with. He's been through it before. Did you know that?" Weir nodded her head. "Of course, it's in his file. He told me about it once." Rodney snorted. "Well, mentioned it in passing a while back. You know the way he sometimes lets something slip, and then clams up about it?"

Rodney looked away from Elizabeth, and towards Sheppard.

"He's really good at internalising things, but he needs help, and I don't know how to do that. Kate says if we had joint therapy sessions it'd help us both, but I can't see him agreeing to that. You know how much he loves 'shrinks', as he calls them. I really don't know what we can do for him."

Elizabeth knelt in front of McKay.

"Hey. We'll work through this. John can be very uncompromising sometimes. We'll all sit down with Kate and figure out how to ensure he feels he has some dignity and privacy. It'll work out, Rodney," she soothed. "I think you should get something to eat, and rest. You're still recovering too, you know."

Rodney looked past Weir, and gazed at Sheppard.

"Carson said he'd get a nurse to bring me some lunch. I don't want to leave him. I'm probably the only one who understands what he went through, and he might need me. If I go…"

"All right. I'm going to have another chat with Carson. You take it easy, and I'll come back later," Weir said quietly, as she stood and walked away.

Rodney picked up his laptop, and looked at John again.

"You're a complete idiot, you know that, right? Why didn't you tell me you were feeling like this? Maybe I could have hatched an escape plan…"

When Carson and Weir came to check on the two men some time later, they smiled sadly at one another, as they saw both Sheppard and McKay soundly asleep.

"We've got a lot more work ahead of us, haven't we?" Elizabeth commented, her voice small and fragile.

Carson leaned down and removed McKay's laptop from his legs.

"Aye. That we have."

Tbc.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17.

_Well, here's chapter 17, where Sheppard finally breaks down. Thanks to Kodiak for her help with this one!_

Rodney woke to find Carson standing over him, gently tucking a blanket around his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Rodney. I didn't mean to wake you," Carson apologised.

Rodney stretched and wearily rubbed his neck.

"You didn't. I was dreaming, about Sheppard, strangely enough."

Carson chuckled.

"Do I want to know about this?" he asked jokingly.

"Ha ha. Very funny." Suddenly turning serious, McKay looked across at Sheppard. "What was he thinking? I mean, I know he's upset, but I think he's lost the plot a bit, don't you?"

Beckett exhaled, and frustration settled in his features.

"Rodney. You know the colonel, he internalises everything, and sometimes even his strong mind can't cope with what's happened around him. His instincts are telling him to retreat. Sort of, cut his losses and hide away… a lick his wounds, type of thing. Hide away and everything will be okay, if you see what I mean?" McKay nodded in understanding. "It's his self –preservation side kicking in. He needs our support and understanding, our sympathy."

McKay shook his head firmly

" No, no, no! That's not what he needs. He needs anger." Rodney turned to face Beckett. "I've gotten to know Sheppard over the last two years, and though I don't pretend to be a psychologist or an empathic type of person, thank God, I understand how Sheppard works, Carson." Beckett raised his eyebrows sceptically. "What he needs is what is euphemistically termed as 'tough love'. Get him angry, stop him feeling sorry for himself. That's the key. Trust me, get his blood boiling and everything will come spilling out. I'm just the man to irritate him beyond belief. Call it my vocation in life – to piss off Sheppard. Psychologists? Hah! Leave this with me. You just make sure you're around to pick up the pieces – hopefully not of me," Rodney half-joked.

Carson considered McKay's words.

"Strangely, and rather disturbingly, what you say does make sense. Okay, we'll give your way a try. If not, I'll have to hand him over to Kate on a more formal basis," Carson warned.

McKay's mouth twitched.

"Trust me, this'll work. Now, if you don't mind, I need to get a little more shut-eye," he said, as he settled back down, Rodney's head resting on the side of Sheppard's bed, blanket firmly wrapped around him.

-oOo-

John woke up to more pain. On top of his existing familiar aches and throbs, he felt a new discomfort – a dull, nagging pain in his left arm. Gingerly opening his eyes and searching for the source of his new irritation, his eyes soon settled on the cast on the offending limb. Trying to remember what had happened, John groaned as everything came back to him in one horrifying flashback. He'd freaked out, made a complete idiot of himself, and then fallen, obviously breaking his arm in the process. God, as if everyone didn't think he was screwed up enough already! John knew he'd sealed his fate with that little performance. He'd never escape Heightmeyer's clutches after putting on a show like that.

A soft snore stole John's attention away from his own problems. He turned his head to discover a sleeping, drooling McKay, resting his head on the side of his bed, his face turned towards John.

John closed his eyes and exhaled. Now Rodney was playing guard dog. Great.

"Ah, Colonel. I see you're awake. How are you feeling?" Carson's cheery voice took John by surprise, and he involuntarily jumped.

"Great. I feel just great," he answered miserably.

"Aye. I'd imagine you do. How's your pain?" The doctor asked as he took John's BP.

John sighed, and looked away.

"Fine. It's fine."

Carson removed the cuff from Sheppard's arm carefully, avoiding the bandaged wound and IV situated there.

"I doubt that's true. You're due some more pain relief about now, so if you'll just give…"

"I don't want or need any. I said I'm fine," came the forceful, yet emotionless reply.

Beckett let out a puff of air, and muttered under his breath, before straightening up and looking John in the eye.

"You're anything but fine, Lad." Carson pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the bed to Rodney, shaking his head as he watched the exhausted McKay sleep on, oblivious to the events going on around him. "We need to talk."

John turned his head away, and looked sadly at Rodney's motionless form.

"I don't want or need to talk, and I don't want to wake Rodney up either. So just leave me alone," Sheppard answered coldly.

Beckett reached out, and gently squeezed Sheppard's arm.

"No. We need to talk – now. I can't help you unless we find out how to make you feel more comfortable. You said earlier that you had no dignity or privacy. I understand that. How can I help?" Carson asked earnestly.

John snorted.

"You can't help. I've got to get on with it. Do you think I don't know that? I've acted like a complete head case, and that makes me feel even worse." John put a shaky, splinted hand to his face, and winced as his IV pulled at his flesh. "Look at Rodney. Lying there like a loyal hound at his master's side. Jesus, what the hell must I look like to everyone? I hate being like this – so pathetic and needy. All because some freaky aliens enjoyed torturing us, and I don't have the backbone to get over it. How pathetic does that make me?"

Carson sighed, and an angry expression crossed his tired features.

"You're not pathetic. You've been seriously ill, Colonel. We nearly lost you twice, and now you're finding it hard to come to terms with your extended recovery. That makes you bloody human."

"I don't want to be human. I want to be strong! I have to be strong. I'm good at strong. People rely on me. Elizabeth, my team. What about my men? What a great example I've been to them. Freaking out like a little girl just because I can't feed myself, can't pee alone…I'm…I'm just…weak. I don't like being weak. Please can I get out of here, Doc, please?" John cringed at his begging voice.

Beckett sighed.

"I'm sorry, Colonel. I can't let you go just yet. You still need a fair amount of nursing. You know we have to monitor your blood regularly because of the heparin. Your sutures haven't been removed yet, and your leg is only just beginning to heal. I can't monitor you in your quarters, and if anything happened and my team weren't there to intervene…well, it could be a risk to your health that I'm not prepared to take." Carson saw John's head was still turned away from him. "Colonel? Look at me." Sheppard's head remained firmly in place. "Colonel? I said look at me."

John slowly turned to meet Carson's gaze.

"You need to be here. I wouldn't keep you here unnecessarily. You're much better than you were, but you have a long way to go. How about I assign just two nurses to you? Melissa and Sarah. You trust them, I know. That way you'll have a sense of more privacy." Carson's eyes pleaded with John. "If you want, I can move you to an isolation room, though I think that'd be a mistake. You need your friends around you, and you need to see that life goes on as normal. Isolating yourself isn't conducive to healing, both physically and mentally."

Sheppard's eyes glazed over.

"I just want to go back to my quarters. I need to think, and I can't do that here. Please, Carson?"

Beckett briefly closed his eyes as he felt himself waver.

"No. In my professional judgement you're not physically or mentally fit enough to be released. I'm not going to change my mind, so let's move on and see what else we can do to make you more comfortable," Carson replied resolutely.

A soft mumbling broke the tension in the air, and as Carson and Sheppard's eyes were drawn to McKay, the physicist stretched and sat slowly up.

Looking at Sheppard, a slow, mischievous smile crept over Rodney's face.

"You're awake. How are you feeling? Like shit, I'd imagine. Nice performance, by the way. I bet you aced your drama grades at high school. I'm impressed, seriously. Didn't think you had it in you to play the tragic heroine. Hah, life's full of surprises, isn't it?"

The hurt on John's face was palpable, and was swiftly followed by a look of annoyance.

"Just go the hell away, Rodney." John's exhausted, spent voice surprised him. "You've done your bit for mankind. We all know how pathetic I am, so there's no need to rub my face in it, okay?" Sheppard's carefully constructed nonchalant mask returned to his features.

McKay snorted.

"Actually, it's not okay. You lie there pretending to be fine, when you're obviously not. Not one to do anything by half, you freak out and end up injuring your abused body even more. At least when I go into meltdown, I'm sensible enough not to hurt myself."

John's neutral expression finally slipped.

"Right. So not only am I pathetic and stupid, but I'm also a diva? I'm surprised you lower yourself to even be in the same room as me. Well, that's okay…just go. You don't need to be here on my account." John paused and took in a hitching breath, as his chest screamed in pain. "I've got nurses doing everything for me. I've got my own little army of moms, feeding and petting me, and telling me I'm a good boy. So you really don't need to be wasting your precious time here on a pathetic excuse for a colonel…" John stopped as his ribs let him know shouting wasn't a good idea.

Carson stood, and looked worriedly at John.

"That's enough, Colonel. You're making yourself sick. Rodney? I think you should leave," Carson suggested in a warning tone.

McKay's face showed his anger.

"I'm not going anywhere until Colonel Calamity grows up, and stops throwing his rattle out the proverbial pram."

Sheppard's face paled.

"You think I'm having some sort of juvenile tantrum? Have you had to have a nurse hold little McKay for you when you pee? Have you?" John demanded.

McKay's mouth twitched.

"No. Well, unless you count that surprisingly arousing dream I had a few months ago…though in all fairness I wasn't incapacitated at the time, so I suppose that doesn't count…"

Sheppard uncharacteristically remained straight-faced at Rodney's attempt at humour.

"Have you had a nurse wipe your ass? You can't get much lower than that, can you? What about having two of your friends feed you, and talk to you like you're two years old? I suppose you'd enjoy that?"

McKay shook his head.

"No, I wouldn't. You're not meant to enjoy it. You just have to get on with it, Sheppard. It won't be for long, will it?"

Sheppard sighed, and took in a shuddering breath.

"Fine. I'm being a child. Go away before I throw another tantrum."

Elizabeth walked into the infirmary carrying a tray of hot soup and toast, and halted on hearing the uncomfortable conversation.

"Good evening, gentlemen. John? I have soup and toast for you." Weir placed the tray on the table by Sheppard's bed and pulled it over John's legs.

John shook his head in disbelief.

"I don't believe it. Just take it away, Elizabeth, I'm not hungry. Rodney was just leaving, so perhaps he can take the tray with him," Sheppard said aggressively.

McKay snorted.

"Here we go. Let's all sulk and have a tantrum simultaneously shall we? Poor ickle Sheppard's throwing a wobbly. He's going to starve himself now! Grow up, for God's sake. I never thought I'd see the day you'd outdo Kavanagh." McKay hovered over John, challenging the colonel.

John didn't think twice. Using his splinted right hand, he swept the soup off the tray, spilling the hot liquid down McKay's legs.

"You bastard! That's hot! Carson, Sheppard's given me third degree burns. Ow!" Rodney moaned.

Carson shot John an annoyed look.

"Come on, Rodney. Let's clean you up. Elizabeth?" Carson sighed and looked seriously at Weir. "I'll leave the colonel in your capable hands. Perhaps you can talk some sense into the bloody fool?" Beckett stormed off, taking a complaining, yet smiling McKay in tow.

Weir tutted, and chewed her lip.

"What was that about, John?" she asked in a surprised voice.

Sheppard turned his head away.

"I – I…just go away, Elizabeth," he stuttered.

"No. This isn't like you. I don't pretend to understand what you've gone through, but you need to face up to whatever you're feeling and move on. We all want to help, you know."

Weir walked over to the other side of the bed, and sat on the edge, next to John, who immediately turned his head away from Elizabeth.

"Please. Just…" John never finished his sentence, as he finally lost control of his emotions.

Elizabeth scooted over and took John in her arms, pulling his head onto her shoulder.

"Let it go, John. Just let it go," she commanded in a compassionate voice.

The first sob that left his lips took John by surprise, by the second he no longer cared, as tears streamed down his pale, sweaty face.

Elizabeth cooed and petted John, holding the trembling man in a firm, yet gentle embrace, as she gently rocked him back and forward.

"It's ok. We're all so angry about this, you know. We don't pity you, or think you're weak. We're just so damn angry, John. We really care about you. Ronon's furious. Teyla's inconsolable. Rodney's pissed and Carson's beyond concerned. You'll get through this, I promise," Weir said soothingly.

John's chest heaved painfully.

"Sorry…I'm sorry," he sobbed quietly.

"Shhhh. It's okay. Just let it all out. There's nobody here but me."

John sank into Weir's embrace and soon all that Elizabeth felt was the soft shudders that left John's exhausted body.

"Elizabeth?" John whispered unsteadily. "Your bedside manner's really improved."

Weir smiled, desperately trying not to join John and shed her own tears.

"I'm glad you let me practice on you. Why don't you lie down? I'll stay with you," she promised, as she edged away, helping Sheppard to lay back in his pillows. "That's better. Just close your eyes. I'll be here when you wake up."

Sheppard closed his eyes as exhaustion started to claim him.

"'Kay. Sorry," he whispered, as his breathing evened out in sleep.

Elizabeth sat quietly by John's bed, keeping guard as her friend slept fitfully. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she gently held on to the tips of Sheppard's swollen fingers poking out from his cast.

"Sleep John. We'll get you through this, I promise."

TBC.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18.

_Well, here's the final chapter. It's been a long old trek, but I've had fun. Thanks to those of you who loyally reviewed! A final thanks goes to Kodiak, for her skill as a beta and support as a friend: you're the best, sweetie!_

Rodney approached Sheppard's bed quietly, taking in the scene before him. Elizabeth sat gently holding the sleeping mans fingertips, her face full of concern and hurt.

On hearing McKay near her, Elizabeth turned and smiled sadly.

"How is he?" Rodney asked, though he had a pretty good idea what the answer to his question would be.

Weir shrugged her shoulders, letting go of John's hand as she did so.

"He let out a lot of frustration, actually. I think you sort of unpopped the cork that was keeping his emotions in check."

Rodney smiled his usual lopsided grin.

"Yes, well, they don't call me a genius for nothing, Elizabeth."

"No, I don't suppose they do," she mused. Turning back to look at John, Weir let out a huff of breath. "He's hurting so badly, and there's nothing we can do to help him, is there?"

McKay looked down at his hands.

"Not really. We can only offer our support. He'll be much better now that he's got some of whatever he was feeling off his chest. It's not easy, you know."

Weir suddenly realised that she'd forgotten that Rodney had also suffered a similar fate as Sheppard.

"Oh God. I'm sorry. In all the commotion, I hadn't thought about how any of this must be affecting you."

Rodney shrugged, and a sudden expression of pain graced his face.

"Ironic, isn't it? The cowardly scientist copes better than the brave military man does. Only he's suffered so much more than I have. In his position I'd be frustrated, but I couldn't care less about being looked after." McKay laughed softly, being careful not to wake Sheppard. "I actually think I'd quite enjoy the attention. He's not me though, is he?"

Elizabeth looked at Rodney.

"No, he's not," she replied, her mouth twitching in response to McKay's words. "One of you is more than enough, I think."

McKay looked momentarily insulted, but seeing Weir's smile, relaxed.

"I'll take that as a compliment. I'm unique and irreplaceable, I know…"

"And yet so unusually modest," Weir quipped. Rodney bristled at Elizabeth's joke. "You do make me smile, though, and right now – well, I really need that. Are you okay?"

Rodney considered Elizabeth's question, and irritation reared its head in response.

"Well, other than Sheppard deciding to burn the skin off my thighs…"

"I think that's a slight exaggeration, Rodney. Your legs were just slightly pink, I didn't even need to treat them…"

Carson's interjection took Rodney and Weir by surprise

"Well, they still hurt you know. I have very delicate skin, and it scars very easily," Rodney whined.

Beckett gave McKay a withering look.

"There's not much that's delicate about you, Rodney. You're fine." Carson looked across at Sheppard. "How's my patient?"

Elizabeth looked at John, and back at Beckett.

"No change from the last time you visited ten minutes ago," she replied jokingly.

Carson pulled up a chair, and plopped himself down.

"Well, his vitals seems steady enough, and a sound sleep will do him the world of good. You did very well, Rodney. We'll make a psychologist out of you yet, though I'm not sure Kate would approve of some of your methods."

Rodney smiled lopsidedly, looking rather pleased with himself.

"Hey. If it works, use it," he replied as he shrugged his shoulders. "I feel pretty whacked. I'm just going to lie down over there for a while." McKay pointed to a bed in the corner of the infirmary. "Wake me if he does."

Beckett nodded, then turned his attention to Weir.

"Off you go. Elizabeth, I suggest you head off too. I need to make some checks on the colonel anyway." Weir started to protest, and Carson raised his hand to quieten her. "No arguments. I need to do some wound checks, and you can't be here for that – so, go and eat something, then sleep. That's an order," he said firmly.

Elizabeth grudgingly stood, and turned to leave, glancing back one last time at the still sleeping Sheppard.

"He'll be fine. You and Rodney have really helped him turn the corner, I think," Carson assured the anxious woman.

Weir smiled.

"I hope so, Carson. I really do."

-oOo-

When consciousness returned to John, the first thing he noticed was that his head felt heavy, and that he felt mentally exhausted. As he blinked his surroundings into focus, he saw that he was alone, and sighed in relief. He remembered his freak out and throwing his soup over McKay. He resolved to apologise the second he saw the physicist, and hoped he hadn't damaged the man's infamously sensitive skin.

John's thoughts then turned to Elizabeth. God, he'd really lost it with her. Well, another humiliating episode to stand alongside the rest of them. He'd apologise to her too. How could he have lost control like that? Breaking down in front of Weir rated even worse than some of his physical needs being attended to by other people. What a mess, what a hell of a mess.

"Good morning, Colonel. How are you feeling?"

John turned his head to see Carson standing beside his bed.

"I've felt better," he answered honestly.

Beckett grimaced in sympathy.

"Aye. I'm sure you have." He sat in the chair at Sheppard's bedside, and looked at John seriously. "Let's have a talk."

John nodded, and chewed his lip.

"Okay," he reluctantly agreed. "I think I need to apologise. Is Rodney okay? I didn't mean to lose my temper with him. I certainly didn't want him to get covered in boiling soup because I lost my cool…"

Beckett reached out to pat John's arm.

"He's fine. Not a mark. He slept like a baby last night. He tried to make you angry to get you to open up a bit, you know."

Sheppard's face showed his surprise.

"He did?"

Carson smiled, and studied John's features carefully, assessing his patient's mood.

"Rodney's become a bit of a psychologist, though I don't think Kate need feel worried yet…"

John turned his head away in embarrassment.

"I feel like such an idiot. I broke down in front of Elizabeth. How could I do that?" John shook his head, and turned to look at Beckett. "She must think I'm a complete head case, as well as being mentally unfit to be military commander here. I'll hand in my resignation. I don't want to go back to Earth though. She'll let me stay here, right? I mean, I could go to the mainland, and help the Athosians…"

Beckett closed his eyes, and held his breath, trying to calm himself down a little before he answered John. Opening them, he exhaled.

"Stop right there. Elizabeth trusts you and relies on you more than anybody here. She doesn't think you're weak or unable to resume your duties. She understands you needed to vent some frustration." Carson saw John's face and shook his head in warning. "No, listen to me. We all care about you, and understand how you're feeling. Of course we have sympathy for you, but we don't pity you. We admire you. You've got a few things out in the open now, and I'm optimistic once you've smoothed things over with Rodney, and spoken to Elizabeth, that you'll get past this."

John took in a hitching breath.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" Sheppard stopped as he felt his grip on his emotions start to crumble.

"That's okay, Lad. You don't need to keep apologising. I want to resume your PT now. Do you think you can manage that? The sooner you're on your feet, the sooner you earn your ticket out of here," Beckett promised.

John smiled falteringly, but nodded his head in agreement.

"Yeah. I'll be fine. I'll be good, I promise."

Carson stood and patted John's shoulder.

"I know you will be. Let's get some breakfast in you, just something light. How about fruit juice and toast?" John nodded. "I'll see to that and call Ronon, and then we'll get started."

-oOo-

An hour later and John was returned to his bed. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and pain was etched into his handsome features, but he felt good. He knew he'd achieved something. He'd managed to walk, albeit with Ronon acting as a human crutch – but, John hadn't fainted or felt dizzy, and despite his exhaustion, he felt positive for the first time in what felt to him like an eternity.

Melissa approaching his bed with clean scrubs and washing materials didn't even phase John. He watched silently as she closed the privacy screens behind her.

"Colonel? Let's get you all clean and fresh. I heard you excelled at your PT. Well done," the nurse praised.

John smiled warmly, but exhaustion pulled at his features.

"Yeah. I did okay. I think I'll feel even better when Doc agrees to let me have a shower," he admitted, hoping the nurse would take the hint, and try and persuade Beckett on his behalf to let him actually have one.

Melissa grinned.

"Nice try, Colonel. I'm glad to see you're up to your old tricks again. However, it's a little premature for showers yet. You'll just have to put up with me, I'm afraid."

Sheppard grinned back.

"Well, it was worth a try, and you're not so bad. I'm sorry I've been a pain. I'll really try to behave from now on."

The nurse cocked her head slightly, and her face became serious.

"You've got no reason to apologise. Just get better, and keep trying to manipulate us like you usually do. Then I'll know you're really getting better. Come on, let's get you cleaned up. Dr. McKay is waiting to see you."

John groaned.

"Round three of apologies 'r' us. I don't think I've ever said sorry so much in my life. Did you hear what I did to him?"

The nurse nodded, and bit her lip to stop herself from laughing.

"I'm sure he understands…" she began.

John snorted.

"This is McKay we're talking about. I'm surprised he hasn't been asking for skin grafts…"

"I heard that, Sheppard," a disembodied voice bellowed form outside the privacy curtain.

John laughed, and didn't even protest as Melissa carefully and slowly eased off his scrub top, and began to wash her patient.

-oOo-

"Finally! How long does it take to wash an invalid? I could feel my hairline receding waiting for you to get clean."

Sheppard allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch.

"Nice to see you too, Rodney."

"Yes, well. I'm glad you're feeling better. You look terrible, but Carson tells me you're doing good, so…"

Sheppard closed his eyes briefly, as he prepared for his next words.

"I'm sorry for burning you with the soup last night. That was unforgivable. And I just wanted to say…thanks – for everything. You've been through hell, but you've been there for me. I won't forget that."

McKay's face betrayed his emotions, and he coughed before answering John, attempting to clear his lumpy throat.

"Yes, well, fortunately my legs are fine. And – you're welcome. What are friends for?"

Sheppard grinned lopsidedly.

"Yeah. Thanks, Rodney."

McKay shook his head.

"God, you can be such a diva, though. I don't know how much you remember about your little freak out, but, boy, can you act like a girl…"

John closed his eyes as Rodney launched into a monologue, citing John's terrible behaviour. He felt himself pulled into soft, comforting darkness, and relished the normality of Rodney's rant as it grounded him. Maybe everything would turn out okay, after all.

-oOo-

When John next woke up, it was to find Elizabeth walking towards him, tray in hand.

"Good afternoon, John. You look better," she said warmly.

Sheppard nodded, but couldn't quite manage a smile. Firstly, he knew he needed to talk to Weir about his breakdown earlier, and that was something he wasn't looking forward to. Secondly, Elizabeth had come to feed him – again, and he just couldn't bear the thought of that. Steeling himself, he watched as Weir put down the tray on the table, and pushed it across John's legs.

"Yeah. I am." Looking awkwardly down in his lap, John bit his lip.

Elizabeth noticed his discomfort.

"Hey. You okay?" she asked in concern.

John looked up, and exhaled.

"I'm getting there. Listen, I owe you an apology…for what happened. I'm…I'm not good at showing my feelings, and I'm sorry I lost it. I don't know what happened." John returned his gaze to his lap. "If you want me to stand down as military leader – well, I couldn't blame you. I'm a mess, and hardly fit to do that job right now…"

John felt Weir's warm hand on his arm.

"John? Listen to me. Of course I want you as my military commander! Nothing's changed. You've been very sick, and suffered emotionally and mentally beyond my comprehension. You need time to heal, and you're doing really well. Now stop being so silly and let's get some food in you, you're looking positively skinny," Elizabeth teased.

Sheppard lifted his head, and the corners of his mouth twitched.

"I'm not skinny, just – lean," he retorted. His face returned to one of seriousness. "I'm sorry about, you know, breaking down. I feel pretty humiliated about it."

Weir sighed in frustration.

"You're human, John. You needed to let off steam, and I'm glad I was there to help you through it. I don't think any less of you, and what happened is between you and me. Okay?"

John nodded. "Okay. I still feel stupid though."

Elizabeth started to stir the soup on the table, and grimaced in sympathy.

"I know, but you're just going to have to get over it. I think it's chicken noodle today, or should I say pseudo chicken noodle," she laughed, trying to lighten the mood. Seeing the uncomfortable look on John's face, Weir dropped the spoon. "What's wrong?"

Sheppard let out a deep breath.

"Look, don't take this the wrong way, but I really don't want you to feed me. It's not that I don't appreciate you helping me, because I do. It's just…" John faltered, and looked pleadingly into Weir's eyes.

"You just can't cope with your boss fussing over you? John, I'm your friend…" Elizabeth explained.

"I know. Please try and understand? I'm trying really hard not to freak out over what's happened to me, but I like and respect you, and this is making me feel…pretty useless. It's bad enough the nurses having to care for me, but at least it's their jobs…" John stopped again, at a loss to explain why he felt so strongly about such a seemingly trivial thing.

Weir smiled warmly, trying to reassure he friend.

"It's okay. I wouldn't want you feeding me either," she admitted a bit sheepishly. "I won't take it personally."

John looked momentarily horrified.

"It's nothing personal, you know that. I don't particularly want Teyla to do it either, but I'm scared she'll kick my butt if I tell her that, and I'll avoid a good butt kicking at any cost," he joked.

Elizabeth laughed.

"It's good to see you're getting your sense of humour back again."

John grimaced.

"I wasn't joking. I am scared of Teyla!"

Weir raised her eyebrows.

"Well next time you're misbehaving, I know where to go to get help." Weir's features softened. "I'll go and find a nurse to come and help you. I'll come back later."

John smiled warmly at Atlantis' leader.

"Thanks – for everything."

"You're most welcome. I'll check in on you later, I really need to do some paperwork," Weir sighed, as she walked away.

Melissa approached a few minutes later, smiling at her favourite patient.

"Colonel? Dr. Weir said you'd like some help with your food?"

Sheppard returned the nurse's smile.

"Yeah. Thanks," he replied easily, pleased at himself for being able to accept help without so much as breaking out in a sweat.

John ate his soup with relish, and the nourishing broth was quickly gone.

"Well done, Colonel. You've really turned the corner," Melissa said as she swept up the tray. "Perhaps you could manage some toast soon?"

Sheppard nodded enthusiastically.

"Yep. Sounds good. Thanks."

John settled back in his pillows, and as he closed his eyes he felt tiredness throughout his body, but a good tiredness, one that told of John's strength and determination. He fell asleep looking forward to the following day, knowing that, although his recovery was just beginning, that his friends would help him through everything. He knew he'd get better now, and that everything would finally be good again.

The end.


End file.
